Workout

Energy.

Tonight in particular, my body does not feel that familiar ache of fatigue. As I enter the third trimester of my pregnancy next week where I am only to grow bigger, achier, slower and clumsier I wonder where this spike comes from. So in lieu of this new and unfamiliar energy I decided to hop on the elliptical. There are a few minor every-evening things to do first.

But afterwards, afterwards.

First there was dinner to prepare. So I rallied the kids out of my arms and into Ben's though Lukas fussed a bit at first and I kept dropping him off at his fathers feet while Shane danced circles around us both. Once dinner was laid on the table boys were rallied for hand-washing which meant several attempts at herding young ones into the bathroom and coaxing Shane to rub his hands together before the soap dried while he wailed to "turn the water on!" and Lukas made attempt number three to dip his hands in the toilet water (at least this time he didn't rub it in his face). Once hands were washed and seats were buckled and food was shoved just far enough out of arms reach, we held hands to pray while our darling oldest sputtered saliva and giggled. "We don't make those noises while we're talking to Jesus," I explained to him while Lukas wailed because the food was out of arms reach. Back and back, back and forth my body twisted between the boys.

Dinner is over and Ben heads upstairs with the baby while Shane has a few more minutes to play. I clean up the table and sweep under the table so that when the ants come at midnight for their morsels of food they only get the unseen crumbs. It's Toy Clean-Up Time but I miss the teachable moment because Shane is sweetly reading a book and I decide it's easier to do it myself. So I bend over blocks and puzzles, trucks and plastic tools dumping them into toy bins. I carry a 15 lb. bag of diapers up the stairs with Shane trailing behind me (if one finds the size of diapers one needs, one must buy every single bag as they may never be found again). Scooping up Shane's 36 lb. body, his clothes are discarded and a hot bath is started.

Bath-time is over. Warm milk, books and quiet lulled moments as sleep nears. I lay down beside my 2.5 year old and tell, for the 100th time, the story of the train and the monkey (sometime we mix it up with a statue and a robot as lead characters). My body relaxes but not as much as his. He's rubbing his eyes and I'm feeling like a champ for casting the sleepy-spell once again.

It's 7:22 p.m. and both boys have ended their day. I have not. The sink is piled high with dishes. I pound my feet to the beat of music as the suds on the sponge escalates. Sometimes I pound my feet off-beat and wave my arms and elbows as well. The mosquitoes are ripe and the more I pound and wave about the more discouraged they are (though the blood of a pregnant woman is awfully sweet). Dishes are piled high on the drying rack and with several sprays the counters are disinfected with Clorox. When the cockroaches come at midnight for their morsels of food they will only get the unseen crumbs laced with a tasty treat.

I switch off the kitchen light and walk out.

And sit down.

And I don't twist or turn. Or say hush. Or pick up anything. Or carry anything. I don't lean over and stand back up. I don't walk up the stairs carrying extra weight (other than my baby girl). I have decided not to exercise after all. No, not tonight.