When in Rome

There is a problem with the interwebz here. It malingers in and out of consciousness. This has become very annoying.

News on the pregnancy: I went to the gym last night. No no – not to exercise, goodness forbid! Just to check things out and see what is available at what price.

I pointed to my stomach, and intoned, in my best Captain Obvious Voice, “Highly Pregnant.” The overly excited sales person / “consultant” then started going off on a tangent about how yoga is very good for pregnant ladies, in fact they have a class on now, and at this special special rate, you could join now, at as very little as so much per session, or so much per month. All you have to do is sign away your immortal soul and pledge eternal allegiance to the art of “body sculpting”.

I thanked him for his time and said I’d see them all next year. You know, after I’d popped the kid. My budget just would not allow for anymore stretching. It’s holding on for dear life as is.

Lately, the “round ligament pain” which is “completely natural” and “expected”, has been bothering me immensely; especially at night. It makes for difficulty in lifting my legs, walking about, getting up, getting comfortable, and so on. It’s not pain exactly. It’s just a sort of acute pressure in the groin area. The books say this is caused / aggravated by long periods of sitting (I have a desk job), or standing.

Nothing can be done about it. I’m supposed to lie down, or take a nap when this happens. I wonder how my manager would feel about that.

I’ve noticed that going for frequent walks do help a little; but, not much. And, walking for exercise after work doesn’t do it for me, because I’m convinced I need frequent bathroom breaks. Not so kewl when one is in the middle of nowhere.

Besides, my gym wear don’t fit me at all anymore. I’d have to get 2 new pairs of XL pants. Sigh. I didn’t expect my high knee to enlarge along with my now bulbous stomach.

I know I’m supposed to be exercising, but even my doctor told me joining the gym now would be a colossal fruitless and wasteful adventure. A waste of money: in other more eloquent words. I’m supposed to walk. The books say I’m supposed to stretch and do light weights, and this and that exercise.

Alls I knows is, once this kid pops, I’ll be back at the gym, paying for torture.