Stuck

We went to the Zoo on Sunday. Michael and I have always loved going to the Zoo; we've been members for 3 years now. We often hear from friends and family that if there's one thing we do well, it's knowing how to play. We love a night in watching TV as much as anyone else, but we also appreciate the finer things in life, like playing mini-golf, going for walks, seeing countless movies, getting ice cream at the Lakeville Dairyette, laying out by the pool at Lifetime, playing arcade games at Chuck-E-Cheese, and going to the Zoo. I'm hoping that my theory is correct, that knowing how to play will enhance the joys of parenthood.

It has been a few months since our last visit to the zoo and I had an incling to see the bears again, along with the annual Africa exhibit. Several weeks ago, after correlating strong contractions with going for walks around the neighborhood, I was told to "ratch it back" when it comes to exercise. Ratching it back from leisurely strolls means that grocery shopping and trips to Target are about all the walking around I'm doing these days. Michael suggested that we could rent a wheelchair to get me to the side of the zoo that houses the giraffes. Initially I thought that this could be pretty fun, but when we walked through the entrance, pride got the best of me and I said, "I'm sure I'll be fine walking as long as we go really slow."

And we walked, very, very, slow. It wasn't 20 minutes into our visit when I started to feel the backache. The frontache. The feetache. And I eyed children chauffered around in their strollers with a mad jealousy. What was I thinking? I thought as I winced through step after step. I made it for that hour, waddling with a slight limp, and clamored for the car door. Wheels, sweet wheels.

When we got home, Michael instructed me to push fluids, soak in the tub and then prop my feet. I got as far as sitting in the tub. The water was too cool but I just couldn't find the strength to turn on the hot water. I soaked, unmoving, for the better part of an hour before hoisting myself out. I laid on the couch, too lazy to walk that 10 feet to the kitchen for fluids. I stared at the clock. It occurred to me that I had a free evening, and should spend it doing something non-chore related. Non-baby related. And I could think of nothing. I stared, and stared, for the better part of another hour. I was exhausted. I was whiney and helpless. I was in pain. I was stuck.

Speaking of which, I got stuck in my car yesterday. Readers who are parking alongside me at Children's know that the parking stall lines have been repainted three times to make for more spaces. I was thrilled to find a space not six floors up from my door, and pulled in. I was able to get out of my driver's side door with a squeeze and a prayer, but then I needed to remove my laptop bag from the back. I couldn't wedge myself between the back door and the car next to me to remove it. I tried the other side; I was able to pull myself up to slink inside the back passenger door and drag my bag over. But then I couldn't get out. I sat in the backseat of my own car, stuck. The only way out was to climb over the center console to get to the front of the car again. What they don't tell you about being pregnant is that you loose basic funciton of major limbs. I have practiced yoga for quite some time, but this has had no bearing on getting my bearings at nearly 9-months along. I just couldn't get my legs to move to climb over. I had to pick up my legs, one at a time, hoist them over into the front, then grab the over-the-window handles in the front to pull the rest of me forward. It worked, in about 63 small manuvering steps, and I ungracefully made my exit, practically tumbling out of the passenger side door.

Back outside, I immediately recalled the bears that we observed the day before. One of them began climbing a tree. "I thought bears aren't supposed to be able to climb trees," Michael said. He's right. This bear sat on the lowest branch, then looked around, trying to figure out how to get down. She tried different footing; 63 small menuvering steps later, she got discouraged and climbed higher, apparently assuming that a descent from higher up would lead to different results. She looked back at us, as if to say, "you try getting yourself out of this mess when you weigh a near-ton!"

I have, dear bear, I have.