JBU thinks it's funny to watch pregnant women huff and puff their way up flights of stairs. Every single one of my five classes is on the second floor of the building. And conveniently my Christian life prof always lets us out late, so I have approximately 3.2 minutes to:
weave my way through a sea of people Who Just Can't Wait To Get Into Their Class!
walk downstairs quickly, but without tripping on my own feet and falling head over belly to the bottom
hike across campus usually through rough and muddy terrain
hustle through the construction zone with the sounds of doom and Spanish floating overhead
climb the stairs in the cathedral with the knowledge that I will not make it upstairs before Dr Cater closes the door and I will have to go into class while everyone stares at me as I pant and try to hide the fact that I am sweating like a pig in a polyester jumpsuit.
Last week I told Dr Cater that it seems like the stairs get harder every single time I go up them. I told him that even though the stairs made me all winded and red in the face, I couldn't bring myself to take elevator because everytime I got to the elevator and thought about taking it I would say to myself "You're going to have to do alot harder things than walking up a flight of stairs. You're going to have to give birth! Take the stupid stairs!!" The awkward silence in the classroom that followed me yelling at myself made me think that maybe that was too much information to share with a group of near to strangers.
However, the part about the stairs getting harder everytime I go up them? that part may be true. I am still in the process of gaining weight like there is no tomorrow, so technically I weigh more everyday, which means, I weigh more every time I go up the stairs. So really, the stairs are harder everytime I go up them.
I have approximately 8 pairs of underwear that fit. Even my pregnancy underwear are tight and uncomfortable. I have threatened at least 47 times to just go commando. Unfortunately, my underwear don't have emotions and don't care if I wear them, leave them in a ball or cut them up into tiny shreds and throw the pieces around like colorful confetti.
On Saturday Wendi said something about Chloe weighing 44 pounds. I thought about that for a minute and then announced that I had gained a Chloe.
I know, I know that I'm supposed to gain weight and it's good for the baby and it will go away. I know! And I am actually very thankful that I have had a very boring and uneventful pregnancy with no scares or problems. Last week at childbirth classes I wanted to put "Healthy as a Horse" on the form that asked whether there had been any problems with the pregnancy. I didn't put it, but I am grateful for my and the baby's health. But there is something disturbing about thinking that if I took all the weight I had gained and turned it into something, I could turn it into my 7 year old niece.