Now, let's talk waddle. Not the aged waddle one is blessed with at venerable stages of life.
The pregnancy waddle. I've had to make a conscious decision not to fight the waddle...it's pointless, and wastes energy at this advanced gravid state. A couple of weeks ago, I noticed the inevitable slow-down, more so this time than the first. Felt as if I hit a wall, a fairly sudden need to walk slower, to roll into/out of the car slower. Walking through a parking lot, having lunged the belly out of a vehicle, I have to slow down while baby gets comfortable again released from the cramped position of my driving. Lovely consistent workouts last week, then Saturday lots of baby-prep activity, and Sunday volunteering...by Sunday night I was completely wasted. The first pregnancy, workouts were 20-30 minute walks, prenatal yoga, but mostly working out how I'd get my pizza fix that week (I gained 60 lbs the first time). My workouts this time are 1 hour walks, real swimming, light strength training, now and then low-impact machine related, and natal yoga. By the way, watching the cyclists & runners venturing out to take advantage of beautiful spring weather, without being able to participate? Little pangs of jealousy assuaged by the truth of my Transitional State. All my activity has been quite satisfying for the time being, except for the distinct feeling that I'm ogled for my state of pregnancy, and constantly (I do mean constant) commented on by strangers.
Now, I understand elder women forgetting how big a woman can get during the last trimester. Of course we forget, that's why we 'get' more than one child. The love for and of the offspring greatly outweighs the un-comfort and then pain of childbirth.
Anyway, I really have gotten at least one comment a day from a stranger lady who feels it must be okay to comment on The Belly. Days I don't get comments are days that we simply don't venture out. I am fairly certain I now understand why women never used to venture out in the last trimester---who would want to? It's hard moving this mass around, it's clumsy, it really is stare-worthy, and comment-worthy. I haven't decided which is worse, the elder that comments, "oh, dear, MAY?? Is it just ONE??" or the younger woman that feels the need to tell me how she "never had to buy maternity clothes and only gained [the recommended] 35 pounds". Either way, some part of me wants to go home and pity myself, the other part (a new part) enjoys the attention in a jolly way, knowing that the yogi-triathlete is in here just biding time, ready to burst forth again as soon as Baby allows me to take this body off.