I Have Decided....

...to follow Jesus.



But, more in line with the context at hand....I have decided that I may think I am in shape and relatively up for whatever task I may be presented but, in reality, I fall more than a bit short and my quads and butt are protesting every single movement made on this hot, humid morning. How is it that it takes no less than 16 weeks to get to a point of running 2 miles for me yet it all dissipates in a mere 2 or 3 weeks?? Feeling quite energized at this point and ready to tackle the projects still at hand my focus landed on my own self...lovely, huh?....and getting into shape to run the marathon of labor and still maintain the goal of the ever elusive 5k. Cause, in all honesty, though I love laboring naturally and despise hospitals and their IV's, catheters, contraction monitors, baby monitors and everything else they tie you to the bed with....labor is just freakin hard and kinda, actually, pretty miserable. It hurts in ways one should never in their life have to experience pain and there is nothing remotely fun about trying to birth a bowling ball. And no matter what resolve I come to in each and every pregnancy I always end up being more vocal than I ever in a lifetime desired to be and feeling like I "failed" labor once again. How in the crap do you fail labor if you freakin pushed a 9 lb baby out...or even a 6 lb one for that matter??? If you got it out wasn't that kind of the whole idea to begin with?? But, never the less, I always do and I always end up apologizing for not being the quiet, soundless, mild one that I start out with every intention of staying throughout labor. I am just not that granola eating, tree hugging, save the whales mom that embraces birth and every aspect of it. I kind of dread it...really dread it...and consider the only fun part about it being the baby at the end. I never have quite understood those women who anticipate the misery of life and wait all 9 months just to labor...and seemingly get high off of the experience. Ummm...so no. That's just not exactly me. Somewhere along the way I missed getting on that boat in life.


But I've done it about every way one can possibly do it. I've done it completely naturally in a hospital, I've done it completely doped up in the hospital, I've been induced twice..misery at it's very finest no doubt and am still not quite sure why anyone in their life ever willingly gives themselves over to that kind of pain, agony and time involved. I've had 2 epidurals and then I've had 2 babies in a birthing center completely naturally and then we've had a completely unassisted birth at home. I've definitely covered the bases where birthing is concerned. And no matter where you are or how you do it, it still just freakin hurts. The epidural is bliss at the moment but the back pain one is left with for weeks on end after that does not even begin to make the few hours of painlessness worth it. I finally came to the very definite decision that I'd rather endure labor than have to deal with a year's worth of massive amounts of back pain due to something being shot up..or rather down.....my spine. Not to mention the catheter that goes along with it and being stuck in the one position that just does nothing but increase 100 fold the chance of a c-section and everything else they do. And then you have the lovely factor that my blood pressure falls off into the nowhere zone each and every time I got one of those lovely 6 inch long needles jammed into my spine. And each and every time it freaks every dr out and they have to prep me for a c-section and the world goes into a frenzy as they lose baby's heartbeat. Slowly it rises back up to where it should've been all along and then they chill out and I progress in a painless labor as an invalid with a suffocating, claustrophobia inducing oxygen mask rubber banded to my face.


And after being threatened with 2 counts of child endangerment after refusing to succumb to a c-section with twins and my overseeing physician terminating my care and promising to see us in court I finally reached my quota of dr's. All of that to say...we left the medical intervention happy world of doctors and began seeking alternatives...ones very near and dear to my heart since I apprenticed as a midwife for 7 years before marrying paramedic husband. After 2 mediocre birthing home experiences doubtful and skeptical husband's heart was turned toward home to the freedom of letting a very natural process be allowed to take place naturally. But in that new found freedom also comes the knowledge that it's you and the pain until a baby finally decides to complete the process.



So, as the 2nd trimester rolled around and energy seemed to return my thoughts began to turn towards what I can do to help my endurance for the task of laboring and birthing a watermelon. Having temporarily left running during the 1st trimester while I focused on just staying away from the trash can for more than 5 minutes at a time I decided this would be the time to resume my routine. That lasted all of 2 days before I had so completely dehydrated myself in the heat and humidity that I was having painful contractions that lasted way too many hours on end. I have intelligently surmised that when I do get ready to finally have a baby that running in heat and humidity is perfectly capable of possibly starting the needed contractions to get it here. But, seeing as how I have an entire 20 weeks to go I figured this would not exactly be the opportune time to try and start labor.



So, in my determined attempt to make labor a happier, more pleasant life experience not to mention the fierceness that resides within to stay in shape and hopefully rediscover the non pregnant body sooner rather than later I decided to create an amiable workout environment. The children and I set to work transforming the 600 sq ft, air conditioned playroom into a home gym on one side and a roll-around-and-be-rowdy space on the other side. This enables the children to be supervised and happy instead of drinking the waffle syrup, finishing off the cold morning coffee remaining in the pot, eating jars of grape jelly by the spoonfuls, devouring entire tubes of my favorite chapstick, sucking down tubes of toothpaste in record times, drinking from the honey jar, dumping 10 lb bags of sugar onto kitchen floors, emptying 5 lb bags of cereal onto the coffee table in their attempts to give Ivye a "snack" and all of the other wonderful things of which young unsupervised children are so entirely capable. This enables me to run like a little caged hamster on the treadmill and become much more regular about the booty bootcamp I now have available on dvd.


What I hadn't exactly anticipated when I awoke this morning were the the muscles that began to scream in protest to the previous day's activities. It was not exactly any secret that my thighs were in danger of igniting and causing spontaneous combustion yesterday as I ran. Neither did it take a college degree to figure out that I have a built in weight vest strapped securely to my body in the form of baby #9 and that my boobs have grown so exponentially that each on it's own offers no less than another 5 lbs worth of resistance to the effort being put forth. Not entirely a bad problem to have until any form of exercise is introduced into the daily routine. Suddenly the smaller boobs of pre pregnancy are seeming much more manageable and desirable. It took all of about 60 seconds to ascertain that the 16 lbs of resistance I now have going will send one into an anaerobic state and leave one feeling mostly dead six times faster than normal. And it quickly occurred to me that running while 20 weeks pregnant is nothing even remotely like running before my current banana sized baby took root and began to grow within.



But I continued on in my devout state. Let no man cease to finish what he began. And I had, in no uncertain terms, undoubtedly began this torture so I would determinedly finish out this agony. But somewhere as children watched Ma Ingalls prance around in her prairie attire and call in her melancholy voice for Charles and I ran in my running shorts and jogging bra gasping wildly for any amount of air I could find that old powerful, invincible feeling that only running brings returned to me. Mind began to separate itself from the misery of body and I could once again fly...even 20 weeks pregnant. I ran for the freedom that it is, for the power that comes with it and the feeling that I can conquer anything on which I set my mind and heart. I ran to achieve what most people aspire to be but never become because fear or lack of determination hinders attaining their goal. And so I run...even 20 weeks pregnant....and I do push-ups and ten thousand squats and endure this self inflicted misery for the prize that awaits at the end. I push through it in an effort to train myself for the task that awaits me in a mere 20 more weeks and so that I may be pleased with my body after it's over once I have a long awaited baby in my arms.