Okay, so I haven't been doing much that is blog-worthy these days. One thing I could mention is that we visited the ob/gyn (yes, again; Amanda is right: we should just get cots and move into the dr's office at this point) this past week, and Fuzzy is now in his proper head-down position, though there is no cervical dilation yet.
I've really been trying to do all the proper, healthy things while I've been pregnant, lack of sleep notwithstanding. I've eaten a fairly balanced diet and even done a bit of exercise here and there. Proof positive that I will do anything for my baby: I've even been drinking a glass of milk pretty much every day! I do this solely for the benefit of calcium and protein, as I don't much care for the taste of milk, and I'm always rather bemused as to why we humans are so enthused about consuming something that comes from the underside of a smelly, dirty animal such as a cow. Think about it, seriously.
I try to do something active almost every day. I started walking for 20 minutes or so, on days when it is sunny out. Our apartment complex also has a heated pool, and I decided to try something new for exercise: swimming. I've been swimming, after a fashion, for almost as long as I can remember, but I've never been able to really sustain any sort of fitness regimen related to aquatics. It's really not My Thing. [Contrast this with Jeff, who swam competitively for I don't know how many years, or with Mia, who swam competitively until a tragic accident derailed her promising athletic prospects. You can really tell, because my naturally athletic sister's arms and shoulders are very buff, whereas "buff" is the last word anyone would use to describe any part of my upper body.] I like to point out that I'm not a bad swimmer, i.e. obviously I've never drowned yet, but neither am I a particularly good one. But because I'm not that good, I really get a workout just doggy-paddling from end to end; my heart rate is elevated and my muscles really feel that they're being exercised, so something must be right. I know some "proper" technique, but I generally just do my own thing. Believe it or not, I actually remember learning the basics of swimming by watching the frogs in the river at Meyokda! I guess it's easy to believe it, if you observe my default stroke: a breaststroke with a very froggy motion in the legs.
I just don't compare my performance with Jeff's, who swims at least 80 brisk and properly performed laps, several times a week.
I actually had swimming lessons once: When we lived in Wheaton, my parents sent Dan and me to the Wheaton College athletic center to "learn how to swim" from a nice student named Stu, who was a PE major or on the swim team, or maybe both. Dan took to it and turned out to be pretty good, but eventually, Stu went to my mom and said, "Look, I'm not going to take your money for Deb's lessons any more. She hates it, and she won't work with me." Yes, I got dumped by my swim teacher, and I deserved it. I did hate swimming lessons: the pool was always COLD, which was horrible for me even back then, and I really didn't see the point. I could tread water, would be able to stay afloat if I got thrown in deep water, and I knew I wasn't going to be swimming in any stupid Olympics, so why did I need to know fancy strokes?
No doubt my punishment for lack of swimming discipline will come when Fuzzy turns out to be a swimmer like his daddy, and I'll be forced to spend many an hour at swim team practices and meets.