A Busy Week

It’s been a busy week last week. Last Wednesday Lucia and I went to the zoo, where Lucia had a splendid time greeting (“Hi!) and feeding sheep, goats, llamas, and geese, as well as greeting and waving at sea lions when they surfaced in their pool. We walked both there and back—a mistake, since the day grew hot and it’s a really, really long walk. I felt fine while I was doing it and then, that evening and the next day, felt like I might not be able to get off the couch. I’m really looking forward to not being pregnant anymore—not because I don’t like being pregnant, because I do, with this charmingly kicking/squirming little one inside that makes my stomach look like it has a mind of its own, which I suppose it does—but because I just want to have my physical capabilities back. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve been in shape; at least when Lucia was born I was doing mommy/baby workouts once or twice a week. But since moving to NYC last year I have done exactly three yoga classes. Four, maybe. And lots of walking. And that is it. The days of going to the gym, doing regular yoga, actually swimming for fitness—it all seems far, far away, a distant dream. Now I get side-splints after walking half a block.

On Friday, we left in the evening for New Hampshire. The drive up was, I have to say, grueling. We left in a huge rainstorm, and it took us an hour just to get out of Manhattan. Being in the car wreaks havoc on both my back and my belly, and there’s just no way to get comfortable. Andrew rubbed my back for a while—this stubborn aching spot that ached during my last pregnancy too—which, for some strange reason, made me feel nauseous and light-headed, prompting me to order Andrew to make a desperate lunge to the shoulder of the road. I’m such charming company these days, aren’t I? Anyway, this isn’t the first time this has happened—there must be a nerve or something there that reacts badly to massage. And that’s my expert medical opinion.

Once we were in NH, we had a difficult night—Lucia woke up and wouldn’t go back to sleep—but even though we were zombies in the morning, it was still splendid to be there. Andrew’s dad joined us Saturday morning, thrilling Lucia, who loves “Bobby” and had been looking forward to his arrival. She played in her pool, walked barefoot in the grass, swung in her swing in the apple tree, put her toes in the pond, had ice cream. Even a thunderstorm Sunday afternoon was cozy; we lounged in the upstairs hallway looking at old pictures.

The drive home was harrowing as well—I think Andrew alternately feels sorry for me and wants to throw me out of the car—but we made it, and on we go with the week.