There used to be this thing called running. I used to do it. I also used to have lots of energy, or at least not get nearly as tired. It was not uncommon for a day to include 4 hours of classes, a quick cleaning of the house, a 6-7 mile tempo run, and then dinner shift at work. Falling asleep at the end of the day wasn't difficult at all, but if invited out for a little while after work, I'd muster up the energy for that too.
That was then, and this is now.
I'm starting to understand why when you share with other women, particularly those who are already mothers, that you're pregnant, all you hear are the horror storries. We all know there is a precious, miraculous, happy ending to the whole journey, we get that part. But now they want to make sure that future moms-to-be understand it's not all baby dolls and tonka trucks, either. I feel like I could easily become one of those women.
For starters, there's the running. Or the opposite of. I am getting out for 3 mile stints a few times a week, but mustering up the motivation to go out there alone, uncomfortably bloated (belly picks to come very soon) and boobs bouncing painfully about, is difficult to say the least. When the first few steps sound like, "Ow. Ow. Fuck. Ow," it's hard to drag myself out the door day after day for the same joyful experience. Sometimes I can drag the dogs or the husband along for company. Without company, I don't think I'd be doing anything.
The days I don't make it out go somethings like this:
Wake up at 4:30 to pee. Try to go back to sleep but am unable to for at least 2 hours. Spend those 2 hours watching the early early news, then roll back into bed around 6:30 or 7. Sleep like a rock until 11. Eat a breakfast* way too large and far too late to digest it in time to run before work. Take the dogs for a 20-minute walk instead. Watch reruns of Anthony Bourdain and What Not to Wear, eat a substantial lunch**, then go to work. Get through 4 hours of the shift then start begging to be cut. Already starving (again), developing a headache, and my jeans are starting to carve their stitches into my hips. Wind up getting a table that camps out until 9:50 anyway. I'm finally dragging my feet to my car by 10:30. So starving now I might puke just to reingest my own stomach. Get home, devour some food my husband has hopefully prepared or brought home, followed with a bowl of ice cream, and finally collapse in bed by 11:15.
For my friend who doesn't believe I actually eat:
*Breakfast: 1 Panera cinnamon crunch bagel w/ hazelnut cream cheese, 1 cheese danish, and 1/2 a cinnamon roll. (NOT almonds and lemon rind)
**Lunch: A sandwich usually consisting of some meat, cheese, maybe something healthy like a slice of tomato or leaf of lettuce. And chips. Or Cheez-its. Sometimes both. (NOT tree bark and alfalfa sprouts)
Anyway, there was a point to all my bitching. Maybe not. I just hope to get some energy back soon to return to some sense of normalcy.