Hopefully I don’t wake up vomiting. Hopefully I wake up vomiting.

After a really busy fall and winter, it’s been strange and (by contrast amazingly) relaxing to have two low-key weekends in a row. We haven’t had meets the past two weekends, which means that I’ve only worked for a few hours on Saturdays, and Nick and I have had a lot of time to spend together doing not much of anything.

This weekend I read Do Chocolate Lovers Have Sweeter Babies, which was the kind of thing I think my University of Chicago self is supposed to hate (frequent mention of evolutionary psychology without any sense that this might not be a legitimate academic field, lots of pop-academia Malcolm Gladwell type studies), but actually really enjoyed. I learned insane and weird things about fetus cells getting into my brain. Actually, this weirded me out so much, I had to skip most of the explanation, but it seems to have something to do with the cells being stem cells and then being able to become part of any organ in my body? Which also means Nick’s cells are in my brain?

We also attended our first non-family social event since finding out about the pregnancy. A friend’s daughter was getting confirmed, so it wasn’t exactly a raucous late-night booze-fest, but the people I knew there are people with whom I’ve frequently drank beers after a track workout, crammed in the back of a van and smelling godawful. My mom (and I’m sure she’s right) told me no one is thinking about what I’m drinking, so just not to make a big deal about it and grab some water and get on with it. It was hard to get on with it because I kind of wished I were sipping the glass of Rose my friend offered me, and because I was convinced that as soon as we left the party everyone started speculating about my uterus.

Today we went for a walk in our soon-to-be-new neighborhood, I finished my pop-academic book that I secretly found very informative, and then I went for an easy run. Today was the first run where I really felt different. Not bad, but my heart rate was definitely elevated. My legs felt fine, but because my heart seemed to be beating so fast, I kept making a conscious effort to slow down. It got me worrying about how soon I might not be able to keep up with the varsity girls I usually train with. Not for my own ego (at least not right now–if I decide to coach after I have a baby and can’t keep up with them, it might well be an issue of ego), but because I don’t want to tell anyone associated with work for quite some time. When Nick and I got engaged in the fall, the girls were convinced that our short engagement was because I was pregnant and came up with the following pieces of evidence: I asked a girl for advil one day, citing cramps; I hadn’t been running as much (I’d just finished a marathon); I stopped wearing tank tops (it was mid-October), I had been in a bad mood (they denied they’d said this, but I know they did… and it might have been true, but certainly was not due to pregnancy hormones).

It was a relief to feel bad on the run today. It’s so hard not to know what I’m supposed to feel like. The internet is a horrible time suck of anecdotal information (so I thought I’d add my own!), and it’s so easy to worry that I don’t feel bad enough, that I’m eating too much, that I should be running more while I still can, that I should be running less, that tomorrow I’ll wake up vomiting, that tomorrow I won’t wake up vomiting…

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