Pilates! I love it! I've been going for a few weeks now at the im=x studio in town. They offer a prenatal pilates on Mondays at noon. And I take regular pilates on Thursdays at noon as well. I feel like my core is already in better shape than when I was simply just running the hills. And I might even be able to take some labor breathing pointers from the crazy breathing techniques they use in class. The thing I love the most about the workout is that the time FLIES by for that hour. I barely think I'm getting going and I'm already done.
As I'm lying there, I often have a thought about how hilarious we must look to the passersby on the sidewalk outside. I've never really seen anyone pausing enough to take note of what's going on inside the windows in the downtown studio. But last Thursday during our class, the water cooler delivery man had to deliver during our class. He had to maneuver through the pilates machines with participants on them to get to the back of the room. Just when he reached the back of the room, I hope without knowing it, our instructor had us start the full-leg twist movement. And the delivery man had to turn around and come back through the room. We lie on our backs on the machines with our legs in the straps that provide resistance as we make circles with our legs wide apart to pull them back into a circular motion over and over again - all the while using the aforementioned breathing technique. The breathing amounts to what we've all seen as television labor breathing: LOUD, forceful breaths to focus on tightening the core.
The poor dude couldn't pass by with our legs spinning around in his way. So he was pinned to the back of the class with nowhere to go and nowhere to look but at our wide-spread legs and crotches as we made the moves. Finally, our instruction either noticed or took pity on the poor guy and asked that we stop to let him through. He looked straight ahead, eyes pinned to the door and literally RAN out the door. I couldn't help but start to laugh and with my first slipped giggle, the rest of the ladies busted out laughing too. I'm not sure who had the more embarassing moment but certainly I was amidst a bunch of ladies in the same position lying comfortable on my back. And not, like this poor guy, thrown into the middle of something unsuspecting and so foreign. We exercised our core a bit more with a few laughs and the agreed that next time we'd take pity on the delivery man and refrain from that particular move while he was in the room.
It was worth a good laugh though.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Stork Delivery Scheduled
I've been without the creativity and subjects necessary to post new entries ... until now, or until 14 weeks and 4 days ago: Hubs and I are going to be parents. Our little lemon is due to arrive by stork delivery on March 20, 2010. We are excited about the prospect of another part of our family to arrive so soon.
I've marveled at the rate at which the little lemon is growing inside of me. I keep track of it on http://www.babycenter.com/ which tells me that at 14 weeks, I can expect that the developing baby inside of me to be merely the size of a lemon. It's equally astonishing that something so small can already cause all this havoc in my life.
I've been fortunate to avoid a heavy dose of nausea. But what I lack in the Barf Department, I make up for in the Fatigue and Debilitating Headache Department. If I complained before about not being able to take a nap, I think I could compete in the Napping Olympics now. And apparently because the insanity of hormones and emotions had already set in, at one point early in my pregnancy, I recall saying to BFF that I WISHED I had even one symptom that would help convince me that I was still preggers; that the FOUR pregnancy tests I took weren't a figment of my imagination. It was that stage, knowing mothers, when you haven't yet seen the midwife to confirm, and you certainly aren't showing yet, and you haven't yet been hit with the usual undeniable signs of preggersville, where I was blissfully unaware of how I would regret actually ASKING for those symptoms. SHEESH. Perspectives change when the stork is scheduled to arrive.
Today, though, marks that day when I can officially say that I can no longer button my pants. I've employed the tactics of millions of other pregger ladies across the world that simply stop buttoning their pants. Hubs and I joked this morning about how the little lemon is protesting inside my belly against tight pants; probably even picketing with signs that say: "NO MORE TIGHT PANTS," and "MUMUs FOREVER." And although I can still fit into a number of my more forgiving pants, this day will be the day that I'll mark as the first real sign of what's to come of the belly bulge that promises to pop even more buttons in the very near future.
I've marveled at the rate at which the little lemon is growing inside of me. I keep track of it on http://www.babycenter.com/ which tells me that at 14 weeks, I can expect that the developing baby inside of me to be merely the size of a lemon. It's equally astonishing that something so small can already cause all this havoc in my life.
I've been fortunate to avoid a heavy dose of nausea. But what I lack in the Barf Department, I make up for in the Fatigue and Debilitating Headache Department. If I complained before about not being able to take a nap, I think I could compete in the Napping Olympics now. And apparently because the insanity of hormones and emotions had already set in, at one point early in my pregnancy, I recall saying to BFF that I WISHED I had even one symptom that would help convince me that I was still preggers; that the FOUR pregnancy tests I took weren't a figment of my imagination. It was that stage, knowing mothers, when you haven't yet seen the midwife to confirm, and you certainly aren't showing yet, and you haven't yet been hit with the usual undeniable signs of preggersville, where I was blissfully unaware of how I would regret actually ASKING for those symptoms. SHEESH. Perspectives change when the stork is scheduled to arrive.
Today, though, marks that day when I can officially say that I can no longer button my pants. I've employed the tactics of millions of other pregger ladies across the world that simply stop buttoning their pants. Hubs and I joked this morning about how the little lemon is protesting inside my belly against tight pants; probably even picketing with signs that say: "NO MORE TIGHT PANTS," and "MUMUs FOREVER." And although I can still fit into a number of my more forgiving pants, this day will be the day that I'll mark as the first real sign of what's to come of the belly bulge that promises to pop even more buttons in the very near future.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
