Exercise

If you asked me on a typical day how much exercise I got, I'd probably roll my eyes and say "none." Sure I chase after Little Bear all day, and usually spend some time running around out on the driveway and playing in the snow, but that doesn't really "count," does it? Some days, very rarely in the winter, I will take him for a short walk: short because it's cold, and slippery, and snowy, and he decides that he wants to be carried after the first 20 steps and he's just way too heavy.

This week, though? This week I've gotten exercise. And oh, my body hates me right now.

Yesterday it was warm and sunny, and we were early getting to campus to pick Matt up from work, and I somehow got the bright idea to park way far away from his building and walk aaaaaall the way up the hill with Little Bear to meet him. It took us nearly a half hour. (Little Bear walked the whole way, except for when we had to cross streets!) And then, despite my knee starting to give me the stop-abusing-me-or-you'll-regret-it twinges, I agreed to walk back down with Matt and his coworker instead of taking the bus. Because pride, and other such foolishness.

This afternoon we found three inches of snow on my parents' driveway when we swung by to feed their dog. Their long, wide driveway that Dad usually clears with the help of his snowblower and  four-wheeler plow and small legion of kids. I gave the dog a defeated look and trudged over to pick up a shovel. It was light and fluffy, not heavy at all, but there was no end to it! An hour and a half later, I had to give up and leave the last twenty feet for my siblings because Little Bear was all. done. with this shoveling nonsense.

And now I'm laying here in bed, my back angry with me, ankles and knees and hips and shoulders aching, abs throbbing, terrified that I unthinkingly overdid it and somehow hurt the baby despite Matt's reassurances that I'm just hurting because I'm out of shape. ("Remember how you're always saying that you aren't physically capable of sit-ups? That's why you're sore. Everything will be fine.") Exercise? So very overrated.

(He's right, and the rational part of my brain knows it: I didn't start hurting until I lay down and let the muscles stiffen up, and I've been grumbling about my horridly weak abs for months and months. And I didn't do any heavy lifting, and I didn't exhaust myself: I just left the snow shoved up against their existing burms for the most part, and I certainly wasn't too out of breath to carry on a conversation with Little Bear while I worked. I even took a little break halfway through, to go find Little Bear some new mittens. But no one ever said that the rational part of a pregnant woman's brain was the loudest voice in her head!)