But only one or two clicks from you.
Today I am sleepy. I made it through yoga this morning, which was delightful, and have discovered as of this week that in spite of well-intentioned desires (or obsessively driven desires, depending on your view) to expand my weekly exercise quotient beyond my current roster of four classes (2 swimming, 1 yoga, 1 pilates), I just can’t do it.
Meant to go to another yoga class on Wednesday night, meant to get in a three mile walk today. Nope and nope.
Did pick up a new book, recommended by our doula to help us get clear on the options we will be facing on B-day: The Birth Book, by Sears and Sears.
She mentioned others as well, but the bookstore I went to didn’t have them: Penny Simkin’s Pregnancy, Childbirth, and the Newborn and The Birth Partner; a book of birth story vignettes called Labor of Love, and Peggy Vincent’s Baby Catcher. (Okay, actually, they did have the Baby Catcher, but after my recent romp with Ina May, I need a break from midwifery narratives.)
Why does gestation suddenly feel like graduate school? Not to mention the books we should be reading on what to do with the baby after it comes out — and starts to grow…?
And now it’s time to meditate, and then cook some meat for me and my omnivorous husband and baby.