Follow-up from previous post: In spite of the weather I was only rained on a bit. No lightning. I bet you were on the edge of your seat wondering about that. Oh, and I didn't see any bears, either. All in all, a good day.
We did lots of hiking but only a little bit of riding this weekend because of some bad weather on Sunday. In my "delicate state," my road bike fits about as well as my favorite miniskirt, so we're only riding mountain bikes and the tandem now. SNG found a riser for my stem and was able to raise my bars about 1.5 inches, just enough that I can breathe while pedaling. It'll have to come up more in a month or so, but for now it works. I hear stories about women doing serious training rides all through pregnancy, and I honestly don't know how it is possible. Physically, I mean. I'm only at 21 weeks, and on my road bike, my thighs squish into my belly half-way up the pedal stroke, making me have to put my knees-akimbo to the sides like a Shriner on a teeny bike. Do these women just have super-long torsoes? Are they riding hands-free the whole time, sitting upright? Should I switch to unicycle?
Sunday morning we got in a relaxing 5 mile hike in the park before a terrible storm blew through. SNG is in the process of re-varnishing our kayaks, and was sanding them in the garage, but when I saw the storm coming and heard the tornado warnings, I insisted that we put them back under the deck so I could put my sweet red convertible back in its rightful place, safely in the garage alongside the bikes.
It turns out we dodged the hail. Dianaverse's house was not so lucky. However, she needs a new roof, so maybe she was pretty lucky after all.
This morning I had to drive back to the doctor's office up in just-south-of-Canada again to have my ultrasound re-done. The technician forgot to get a picture of the 4-chamber-heart angle. So, back I went. To make up for the inconvenience (and for making me late to work), she gave me some more 4D pictures for free. She also did another gender-check, and again, girlie was mooning the camera cooperatively and we're really quite certain it's a girl. A couple of people have said they can't tell anything from the doppler radar ultrasound image, so I was glad she looked again. And the technician (who has been doing this for 20 years) was quite sure, again. Poor kid, people keep taking pictures of her privates.
If this turns out to be a boy, we'll sure be caught with our pants down, so to speak!
Inch-high has been extra wiggly over the past week or so: ever since the first round of pictures. She might just be getting bigger and thus the wiggles are easier to feel. Lately she has taken an interest in reaching a foot out to my bladder and stepping down hard. Or grabbing hold of my appendix, an intestine, or whatever is nearby and squeezing it. I can't really complain: it's not exactly first-class accomodation in there. It's more like a fancy Manhattan hotel room: expensive, noisy, cramped, but impeccably climate-controlled. And the food is outstanding. Perhaps she, too, will run into Jesse Jackson in the fitness center?
Run, Jesse, Run!!
Oh, if only I'd thought to say that instead of staring like a half-wit and tripping over my treadmill belt.