Savagery, a longing, and birthday gifts

"This week in pregnancy your body may be experiencing gas, constipation and hemorrhoids." 

I'm sorry, what?

I mean.



I understand that "our bodies were made for this" and whatnot, but do you know what else my body was made for? Sleeping. And comfort. And eating pizza. REGULARITY. Like, just because my car was made to go 100 mph doesn't mean I won't crash into the median and die while doing so. 

You know?

When creating humanity, was the universe just like, "Woman. Make her body grow more humans in horrifying ways, and make it last for nearly a year. Also take away sushi. Beer, too." 


To be clear, I have experienced no hemorrhoids. Which probably means I just jinxed myself. But a friend of mine just gave birth, and she ended up with blood red eyeballs after the vessels in both of them popped during delivery. 

Vessels popping in our eyeballs and in our butts. Call me crazy, but I could make the argument that our bodies are not at all made for this, and instead, our bodies are STARTING A REVOLUTION. 

However, other unpleasantness I've yet to encounter are stretch marks, the pregnancy line along my lower belly, and chin hairs. So I guess my body is putting up a good fight. 

Yet to be determined, though: gestational diabetes. 

I had my glucose test on Saturday. I'm hoping that since it's already Tuesday and I've yet to hear anything from the doctor's office, I'm in the clear. Or I just threw all my good fortune in the trash and by Friday I'll be smearing Preparation H on my butthole while crying over stretch marks and chin hairs, and throwing all my cookies in the garbage can to avoid preeclampsia, pre-term labor, the birth of a 12-pound baby boy, and the development of Type II diabetes in ten years. 


I should become a middle school sex ed teacher. 

But at the same time, our baby boy continues to grow according to plan and still sounds fit as a fiddle. His kicks and movement have become wildly apparent. He also let me drop a sub-9-minute mile the other day. Sure, I'm still only running two miles at a time, but I'll take a small gift from time to time.

I'm happy to still be running 25 weeks into pregnancy, but I think the (short-term, in my case) magic of the second trimester is slowly waning. My energy levels have plummeted lately. But dammit, I'm hellbent on keeping up a tiny remnant of a running routine until I literally cannot put one foot in front of the other without a baby erupting from my uterus. So while my energy is plummeting, my runs have at least felt somewhat "easier" lately. 

Again, small gifts. 

Speaking of gifts, I've already declared that all I want this Christmas is a shiny, new pair of running shoes. According to pregnancy lore, they'll probably have to be an entire size larger since FOOT GROWTH is apparently another enjoyable side effect. But really. All I want for Christmas is to run.

I long for running in a way I can't even express. I heard a song on the radio the other day that was fresh on my running playlist last fall when running was fresh and carefree and enjoyable, and it threw a legitimate rock into my gut. I had a physical reaction. 

The cool air. Sunshine. Lakefront views. Twelve miles on the training plan. Good music keyed up on iTunes. My heart actually hurts right now. I cannot wait. I can't. The anticipation I have to be reunited with that part of myself is equal to the anticipation I have to meet my child. 

In case there was any question whether I am crazy.

But it's true. Running is me. It is who I am as a human. All the hemorrhoids and torn vaginas and stretch marks in the world don't hold a candle to the loss of running as I know it. 

That said, it makes me incredibly thankful I've been able to hold onto some semblance of running so far. 

And, the good news is I am ecstatic about a return to running when the time comes. I look forward to gaining it back. It's so much like the return late last summer when my broken pelvis healed. Pure, unadulterated joy just to run an entire mile. Running because I could. Because it felt good. Because there wasn't a small, growing baby boy expanding my uterus to the size of a soccer ball and asphyxiating my bladder while simultaneously zapping me of my lifeblood. 

So, in truth, it's pretty exciting that I get to become a mom and return to running by the end of the year. This is next-level joy. 

So here we are again, marching into another week. I'm into bimonthly visits with my OB now, and into the third trimester in a couple weeks. It was definitely just yesterday that I peed on 92 pregnancy tests just to be sure I wasn't seeing double, literally. Two lines for positive. 

In other news, tomorrow is Todd's birthday. He, uh, got me a baby for my birthday this year, so I returned the favor and bought him a miter saw for his. I'm not sure which of us won the birthday lottery this year. But he received the saw under the condition that he promises to enjoy both of our precious birthday gifts separately. 

Babies and saws do not mix. Per the Guide to Babies Handbook. 

He had to get his gift a few days early, though, because the thing was half the size of my Jeep and, like a stereotypical, helpless damsel, I needed him to help me remove it from the car when I brought it home from the store on Saturday. 

Happy birthday, husband. I got you manual labor and a saw. Don't cut your fingers off! 

I guess mutilation is the risk you take, though. My birthday gift to him may cause serious injury or maiming. His birthday gift to me is going to give me hemorrhoids. 

So. We're even. 

Marriage is amazing already. Let's do this forever.