I am sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but growing a person is hard work. I come home and sometimes I can read a little, but mostly my brain is in blerg mode. Which, of course, makes it sound like I have the attention span to watch TV. Decidedly untrue, friends. There is no TV watching going on. Unless you count episodes of Friends. That I probably could have quoted for you anyway. While I’ve got you here, let me tell you about the Holiday Armadillo! And the Maccabees!

It is sad how little it takes to make me feel like a superhero these days. Tonight, we went to the hospital for a tour. It was dark outside when the tour started. I had to go out. In the dark and the cold. This is, to me, the most difficult time of year, as the days are growing even shorter. In January and February, there is hope in the possibility of spring, but when the solstice is approaching and it is barely getting above freezing and there’s snow on the ground (in North Carolina!), it is hard to do anything except huddle inside the house. But, no, I braved cold weather and darkness and even swollen feet to go take a tour of the hospital where Atticus will be born. Leaping tall buildings in a single bound is completely overrated.

On Wednesday night, I took my last yoga class of 2010, my last possible “pre-natal” yoga class. It’s not officially a pre-natal class, but it’s such a small class that I got my own directions. I have to say, it felt pretty heroic to even show up. I did everything in the lamest, wussiest possible way. But I did it. Sometimes exercise like that makes me cranky, brings what is wrong to the surface. But this was the best kind of exercise, clearing away a difficult day, leaving me refreshed. It didn’t hurt that I was greeted with a bear hug and that everyone wished me the best at the end of it. All exercise should begin with bear hugs.

It is possible that Atticus will think I am a superhero sort of mom, the lady with all the answers. I felt that way about my own mom. The problem is that my mom really is a superhero. And all Atticus gets, poor guy, is me. The lady who thinks going out in the cold deserves a medal, and who wants everyone to know that she managed an hour of yoga. The lady who was in bed before 9:00 and is sitting with ice on her feet. At least he gets my mom as his grandma. I hope no one tells him that she would never have been caught dead lounging in flannel pajama pants (that belong to her husband, of course) at 4:30 in the afternoon.

Portrait of an actual superhero and her daughter:
carol and kari

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