Hit the gym bright and early this a.m. for 40 excruciating minutes on the elliptical machine, trying to deconstruct my own pelvis/shatter my spinal column I guess … what can I say, any kind of physical activity at 9 months feels like holy hell. Except swimming… but there was a very glamorous and exclusive water aerobics class occupying the pool area, and I didn’t feel like wobbling my arm fat with the senior set. (Mine, not theirs. Probably theirs are more toned).
But a workout was had nonetheless, which was then promptly undone by lunch at Chicfila. Mmmmhmmm.
Aaaaand, I may or may not have nested at Costco today. A dangerous and unusual phenomenon yielding no fewer than 16 cans of black beans, a 3 lb. bag of tortilla chips, and a 30 pack of horrible, horrible eco-friendly toilet paper that is almost as cheap and fluffy as discarded newspapers.
So pretty much we’re all set to get birthin’ … cept for I’m only 36 million weeks along, and even the unusually prompt and polite Joey didn’t arrive until week 37 day 4.
Until then, hoping for many more awkward moments at the Kid’s Club whereby one lady points out how I’ve clearly ‘dropped’ over the weekend and then all three childcare professionals gather around my midsection, hemming and hawing on whether or not that baby is, in fact, hanging out nearer to his/her final exit point.
Litany of humility … who needs it?