Still running jogging

Next to what she consumes, nothing attracts unsolicited comments like the sight of a pregnant woman running. I've been fortunate that said comments are generally positive ("Right on!") or encouraging ("Keep it up!"), though I've heard tell of the annoyingly negative ("Should you really be doing that?").

When I was pregnant with the Bug, my last so-called run (trust me, it gets really slow near the end) was a couple of days before I went to the hospital to deliver. I'm hoping for the same sort of luck this time around, and all indicators are still positive. I chuckle a little when people ask me about it, because the #1 question is about my heart rate. Of which I have no clue. I don't track my heart rate when I'm not pregnant, nor do I track it when I am pregnant. It's actually a lot easier than that. You just want to keep your exertion to a moderate level, and it's easy not to overdo it because between increased blood volume and decreased lung capacity, there is simply no way to push it too hard. I still record my run times, but only because I find it interesting to track. The other guideline is total exercise time. I've heard that it's good to keep yourself around 30 minutes or less by the time you hit the third trimester. Frankly, I could not do much more - when you're pregnant, you really go to the bathroom frequently. I simply can't hold it longer than this!

As far as workout gear, I have heard about giant belly bands that are supposed to keep you from bouncing. The concept freaks me out, and my tummy is totally bounceless anyway. I wear my normal shorts, low below my tummy, and either a maternity running shirt or a big old t-shirt. The former is far more comfortable, but I've got more of the latter and they suffice.

I think the reason I do it is to maintain a level of normalcy even while pregnant. Like a glass of wine with dinner, it makes me feel a bit more human. Plus, exercise during pregnancy is supposed to help with post-baby weight loss. I'm hoping to keep running 'til the end again.

Newport, RI

Sent to the Bug last weekend from her Mommy and Daddy. While the Bug and Mima were making major strides in child development, Joker and I visited Newport, RI. It's a very pretty town, if a bit on the touristy side. We ate good food, had a fabulous time on the coastal Cliff Walk, toured The Breakers, and got to sleep in. This postcard is from the downtown harbor.

Breaking Dawn

The best thing I can say about Breaking Dawn, the fourth and final book in the Twilight series, is that at least now I am done with it.

First of all, Stephenie Meyer is a poor writer. This book starts out narrated by our good buddy Bella, switches to first-person narrative by Jacob the werewolf (or more precisely, the shape shifter), and switches back to first-person now-vampire Bella. Good writing in the first person is rare, and this writing is far from good. Plus, Meyer splits infinitives. She suffers terribly from overuse of the adjective. She really could have used an editor. And she's got a crazy agenda.

You see, I thought all the PG-rated kissing and eye-gazing and cheesy crap was to maximize parentally-sponsored book sales for pre-teen girls. In reality, Meyer is an anti-choice Mormon who doesn't believe in premarital sex. Not even for hot teenage vampire dudes like Edward. In fact, before his and Bella's wedding night, dear sweet Edward talked to his father and brothers about the birds and the bees, since in his hundred years of "life" the issue had never, um, arisen. Then, when Bella gets pregnant with a freaky demon monster who beats the hell out of her from the inside, her blinding love for Edward means an abortion is completely out of the question. Feminist lit this is not.

So Bella has the baby, Edward pseudo-saves her life by transforming her into a vampire, she's able to resist the urge for human blood from the get-go, the pack of werewolves seems to be cool to co-exist with the veggie-vamps... but look out! Here come the old-ass Volturi from the second book, on their way to stamp out the Cullen menace for once and for all. Tension builds, conflict seems imminent... and then it's averted because of Bella's super-power. She, Edward and the half-breed live happily ever, since apparently all our 18-year-old leading lady ever wanted was to be Edward's immortal bride and the mother of his child. How progressive.

Up next: I'm about two-thirds of the way through War and Peace, which is incredible. I'm going to try to focus on finishing that one, rather than having two books going at once.

Mima mojo

A few weeks ago, I thought we were nearing the milestone most longed for by parents the world over: potty training. The Bug was into it, she dug on her new panties, and we spent about a day and a half with grand toilet success. But she lost interest, got distracted, or otherwise decided that the diaper was still OK for now. I was a bit disappointed, but figured I have neither the know-how nor the patience to really force the issue. Plus, she's still young, so we could come back to it later.

Well, apparently all it took was about 12 hours with my mother, who worked some sort of uber-magic with astounding success. Joker and I left for a little weekend get-away on Friday morning, and by dinner-time we needed a scoreboard to track the break-throughs. The Bug had used the potty at home, the potty at the children's museum, and she'd made her first Number Two on the potty. By Sunday, she was wearing panties in the car (even when she dozed off) and had used the potty at the zoo, and this morning the first thing she asked for (well, second, after her Mima) was the potty. Another Number Two, another accident-free car ride to the babysitters... By Jove, I think she's got it!

How rude!

I don't really ask a lot of the general public. I am happy to pay for my own drinks, open my own doors, give up a seat for the elderly, and respect "no cellphone" policies wherever I find them.

But I am also seven months pregnant. I enjoy my 20-minute walks (more or less... used to be less, but now they're closer to 23 minutes) to and from Grand Central, but sometimes I just don't quite have enough time to make my train in the evening. Which forces me underground. Where all the otherwise chivalrous people who open doors and try not to knock over the pregnant lady turn into a mass of boorish pigs.

When I get on the subway and there are no seats, I actually catch the eyes of people (mostly men) who are rushing to appear as if they don't see me. They fumble with newspapers, they get out their blackberries, their eyes glaze over as they intently read the subway ads. Sometimes an older woman or a really, really old man will ask if I'd like a seat. Less frequently, a younger woman will offer hers up. And very occasionally, a black or latino man will stand in my stead. But virtually never will a white man between the ages of 20 and 50 give up his seat for a pregnant woman.

This phenomenon puzzles me. It happened last time I was pregnant, and I have observed it many times between pregnancies, when I find myself to be the only person on a crowded subway car to offer my seat to a pregnant woman. From time to time, I get elbowed out of the way on the Metro-North platform as it's time to board a train, but only on the subway is this behavior the rule rather than the exception. Why is that? An odd form of tunnel blindness? Is the subway lighting so very slimming that I look completely un-pregnant? Seriously, people, what gives?

New snoozing ground

We set up the Bug's big girl bed over the weekend, and she's been super excited about it. She plays on it, we read books on it, she jumps on it. But we had to ease on into the sleeping on it thing. For two nights, after books and lights-out, she asked me to lie with her for a while. When it was time for me to leave, she asked to be put into her crib. Night #3, she started in her crib and asked for the big girl bed around 5:00am, where she finished the night. And last night, we had success! We tucked her in, turned out the light, and in the big beddie she stayed! Now if we can just get her to use the potty...