Snow and Ice.

When I was a child, we lived in rural Michigan. We had a wonderful house built on a hill, perfect for sledding. We fwould start at the top, near the bedrooms and cruise on down past all three levels. It was a winter wonderland: sledding, ice skating on the lake behind us, jousting with icicles that grew over 10 feet long, and more snow sculptures, igloos, and other ice structures than you can imagine.

To this day, one of my favorite feelings is when you come back in from being out in the snow, and you are warm, maybe even drinking a hot beverage, but your legs still feel cold to the touch.

I did have one problem: the steps. If you took the intended pathway up to the front door, then you had to climb about 20 steps. We almost never did that, partially because it was nicer to go through the garage and walk up the two short flights of stairs inside, and partially because the first step on the long flight outside was always icy. So much so, that I had a recurring nightmare in my childhood: I bounded down the stairs, only to make contact with that icy last stair, lose my footing, and then hang suspended in mid-air - waking just before the impact of the fall.

Well, my dears... I feel like my pregnancy has turned all my interactions with this winter into that nightmare. I don't trust my footing. My center of gravity is amiss. My fear of hurting myself or the baby is great.

In short: I am afraid of all that I used to love.

I walk slowly. I don't play. I don't go out if I don't have to. Instead, I look out the window and get morose... like a kid with some kind of illness that keeps them inside. It's very sad.

I keep my spirits up by imagining my cute little girl all stuffed into a padded snowsuit, eating snow and laughing... that is, imagining next year with all of it's potential!

Maybe this weekend I can get my husband to take me to a nice park or something where I can muss some virgin snow without fear of falling down stairs or slipping on ice. I would hate to miss out on 70 inches of snow. I want to play a bit.

And come Monday, it's time for me to go back to work. To face my fears of this crazy weather and it's affect on the city sidewalks.

Maybe I'll buy some new boots with better traction, at least pretend that will make me safer. But secretly, I'm just ready for spring... as much as I never thought I would ever be the person that wished away the beauty of winter.

Things that have changed...

At this point in life and in my pregnancy, there are many things that are changing - and so quickly I can barely keep up.

For example, here is a list of things that I used to love, and was good at, that I now am bad at:
- Walking
- Breathing
- Climbing stairs
- Breathing after climbing stairs
- Being patient and kind

When you combine two or three of these things, like climbing the stairs to the train, and trying to be kind to my fellow passengers, I am prone to anger, grimacing, and lingering bad thoughts. I am slowly becoming like the curmudgeon lady that is always huffing and puffing about something, sometimes muttering things like "of course!" or "ridiculous!" under her breath.

That brings me to a question: if the person you dread seeing the most in life is the curmudgeon lady, yet you see that you are slowing becoming her, does that speed or retard your progression in becoming like her?

Other things that now annoy me, EVERY MORNING:
- People that don't hold the door for me
- People that push pass me to get on the escalator
- The fact that the conductor does not open the heavy train door, nor does he ever offer to help me up or down the stairs. (What does he do? Looks at my pass, but that's about it)
- People staring at me, and if I look up at them, then they want to know 400 things about me and the baby
- People who sit next to me that elbow me in the belly while trying to find things in their enormous bags, which they probably just smacked me with while they sat down
- People that don't move when the nice man in the wheelchair gets on the train - I can only imagine what HIS list looks like, but he has a kind face and maybe not as many hormones as I do... so maybe he has just resigned himself to this routine

And there are 8 more weeks. Sheesh. That seems like a VERY long time to me right now.