Keeping my cards close to my chest (or is it my baby?)

2.060kgs.

90th percentile in pretty much all areas.

TWO KILOS 60.
90TH PERCENTILE.

"Vous cachez bien votre jeu", you're keeping your cards close to your chest, the OB-GYN said last week, as I was in for my last ultrasound, having checked the baby and now looking at the whole 5'1 of me. 

Poker terms notwithstanding, I am not sure whether I am more proud or scared to seem to be able to produce big (for me, at least) babies. One one hand, it gives me comfort to think that, should she leave her indoor pool early, she'll be already reasonnably big and strong. Malo and now this little girl growing inside me and clearly enjoying their time there should also give me comfort than my body is not only good at running, it is good at populating the world, too. That should include giving birth, so no need to worry too much.

On the other hand, well...

1. the first pregnancy went super well only to end up in a totally unexpected emergency C-section does not necessarily support this evidence ;

2. I have reached the point where I find I am big enough as it is, and don't need another two months of the baby gaining another 2 or even 3 kgs (yes I know, that's me being a bit overdramatic here). The OB-GYN may think I don't look like I am carrying such a big baby for my size, but, I mean, has he really, really, looked at my belly? To me, it definitely already looks like a giant inflatable balloon, and one which is meant to keep inflating until early April. Difficult to imagine. And scary.

3. I am indeed 5'1 and less than 45kgs when not pregnant.  Not exactly 90th percentile, is it? And let's face it, I am rather unlikely to get much taller and bigger in between now and birth, so a big baby is not necessarily such a blessing, especially with a first C-Section under my belt (pun not intended) and a pelvimetry planned for next week.Of course, I could try and think positive (now, wouldn't that be a first?) and think that estimation of foetus' weight can easily be off by 10-15%, which would then take her back to where Malo was at the same stage of pregnancy. That, or... 10-15% higher than the 2.060kgs announced. Already 2.370kgs at only 31 weeks and 4 days? That, I don't even want to envisage.

But isn't the main reason for not wanting this baby to be too big, or at least not to be, at birth, bigger than Malo is this one : do we really need, in this family, one more reason for the two kids to querrel when they're older, along the lines of :

"Shut up, you're only a girl".

" That may be so, but I was heavier than you and I was born, so you shut up".

Well, I surely think not.

"Maman, cours"

"Maman, cours", run Maman, says Malo 10 days ago as we leave the flat for a Sunday evening run with the Chariot, and are power-walking on the pavement.

"Maman, cours", orders Malo again 15 minutes later, as we are by then... well, running, actually.

Then, last Sunday, on a similar outing, it happens again.

"Maman, cours".

"But I am running Malo", I try to argue, "I am just going slightly slower than usual because it is more difficult with Little Sister in my belly". 

"Non, Maman pas courir. Maintenant, Maman, cours". 

 

That's it then, there is no way to avoid 2 simple facts :

1. My son does not consider anything over 5min/km running pace.

2. I am by now truly running like a pregnant woman.

Although I am quite happy about fact #1 (surely that makes him a future, fast, runner in the making, does it?), I am not so sure about fact #2. Sure, I am running, and I am pregnant, but until recently, it had not - or at least I want to believe it had not - affected my training regimen so much.  However, the last few weeks have seen me ballooning (or so it feels) and I have had to resort to using the tricks that worked when pregnant with Malo, who was clearly more tolerant of them then than he is now.

So here is how a run goes, at almost 32 weeks :

- Walk at fast pace for 10-15 minutes. Now, this is quite something for somebody who usually tends to forget about the meaning of the word "warm up" and can start at pretty much the pace she will do her entire run at. But hey, if that helps avoiding contractions (and it does -  zero contractions when running this pregnancy), I am all for warming up.

- Run for 35-45 minutes. Now, this is were running time is more dependent on being either "only" super busy with work or super-super busy with work, and unfortunately, I cannot manage much longer most of the time.

- Pace had not dropped too much until recently, but as we all now know, if my watch had not told me I was now going more snail-like, Malo would have.

- I am running less frequently than I used to, pre-pregnancy but also compared to when pregnant with Malo, but the culprits are more work and the new house than Little Sister.  Maybe that's just me trying to put a positive spin on the frustration born from running less - if that is so, that's great, since I am not so good at putting a positive spin on anything these days - but that could well be a good thing, since I have so far avoided the back pains I experienced with Malo, and don't feel my belly at all when running (despite its more than honourable whale-like size by now).

Strangely enough (or maybe not so strangely when one knows how a runner's brain works and what it produces), I feel über tired ALL-THE-TIME, except... when I am running. I can spend hours wondering how to get through the day (and the night, thanks to insomnia and Malo having decided it is time to give us the sleepless nights we deserved but managed to avoid when he was a new-born), but feel a burst of energy as soon as I get out for a run.

So here we are. I have to face shame when running with my son and passing people who can hear him shouting clear and loud from the comfort of the Chariot that I am not fast enough. But I don't care. I am having fun. And I am just hoping the fun will last for the best part of the next two months, even it that means embarrassing my toddler or boring him to death by being too slow.

Snowed Under

Yes, we have been snowed under. Figuratively, but also literally. One is likely to last, although not necessarily the one I would have chosen, the other one is already something of the past, at least in town. 

My November runs (at least the weekend ones, when I have more time) went something like this : 

"Running" in the  Glières range at week 20.

Incidentally, this photo was taken at the end of my 20th week, and although I'd love to pretend running uphill felt like a walk in the park... well, it did not, and the rather steep uphill section involved a fair bit of fast walking, not to take any chances of the baby getting less oxygen that it'd like to.  This was mid-November, there was no snow forecast, and to be fair, this year, I was quite happy about it, since 1. it ies easier to fit in one hour of running than the few hours needed for a ski outing, 2. I had not planned my pregnant training regimen to include loads of skiing at this stage of pregnancy anyway.

Pretty much exactly a month later... and still no snow. By that time last year, Annecy itself was under the deep layer of snow, I was running at lunchtime with my Yaktrax, and had had my first cycling accident cycling to work from day care and sliding on black ice. This year... nothing, so a run up Mont Veyrier, overlooking Annecy and the lake, it would be.

The Annecy lake from 1400m on Dec 12, , and still  so snow

Nothing on the snow front, but, unlike snow, some things arrive when they are due, including a getting-rounder-and-rounder belly. 

The view on Annecy lake slightly obstructed by a week 24 belly

Then, then... One morning, as I woke up, "It" was there,eventually!

"It" being, luckily, the snow, not the baby : I may be happy if the baby is a few days early, but still some three months away from my due date, the baby is very welcome to stay warm and cozy inside.

I am not ecstatic about snow in the city this year round. Last year already, it meant no running in the city for 2-3 weeks, and this year, guess why, I feel more vulnerable. And since there are right now two things I want to avoid at all costs, namely falling on ice while running but also having to run on a treadmill (in fact, I think I'd rather not run than run on those machines. And anyway, due to new house and new job and therefore little extra cash, a gym membership is not on the agenda), I want to see asphalt rather than snow on my doorstep.

On that first weekend of snow, it was quite easy, however, to find a nice alternative to running without going too far away, and we settled for Mont Veyrier once again.

Up Mont Veyrier once again, although it does look like a different mountain this time round.

Same running tights,same headband, same backpack as a week earlier. A rounder belly. however... and more snow in my shoes, the result of being a pregnant chick with a brain in sleep-mode who forgets that, when planning to go snow shoeing in knee-high fresh powder, gaiters are a useful gadget.

An impressive storm a few days earlier had also provided some major obstacles for somebody who now struggles a bit with shoes lacing, and, as I found out during our hike, bending in half to get under fallen trees.

"Parkour"-like snowshoeing!

A week or so later, and we were off to the Southern Alps for some family Xmas holidays. No alpine skiing for me, although I had packed my gear, since the resort turns out to be full and the runs far too busy for comfort/safety.

Instead, it would be...

... running, dressed a bit like Santa, and having pushed perfectionnism to a new level with a belly a bit like his, too...

Note to myself : when pregnant, do not leave for run on hard snow trails full of potholes when night is about to fall

... Snowshoeing in the Ecrins range, a super workout when pregnant, not to mention an ego booster when easily overtaking the only other hikers on that itinerary, them panting, us not (my athletic performance not giving much risk of an over-inflated ego these days, I did indulge guilt-free on that one occasion)...

Under the glacier at Lac de la Douche

... and pushing up to the pass, some 250 - steep - metres than what was initially planned. We were greeted there by a bitterly cold wind, which I did not suffer from nearly as much as Martin, thanks to my additional "layer"... while, due to cumulated stress,  he's on the contrary recently lost 4 kgs that were certainly not extra.

Down from Col d'Arsine

And, last but not least, since I could not ski and somebody had to babysit, I had to take Malo sledging. I just love sledging, and must admit that, on our first attempt with Malo last year, the mum had much more fun than the 1 year old who was providing her with the excuse for indulging.

Sledging with Malo proved to be a bit of a disappointment though.

"moi tout seul, Maman"

Not that he did not like it. In fact, he liked it so much the week's motto rapidly became "moi tout seul".

So Malo on the sledge by himself it had to be, with Maman realising she had just relinquished one of her last chances for a bit of pregnant fun.

Like investment banking. Just worse.

It may have been a great experience but I don't look at my time in investment banking as the most stress-free and balanced time of my life. I can give you a pretty extensive list of all the positives about that job.  But truth be told, came a time when these positives could not any longer outweighs the minuses, the largest of which was how busy, running out of time and juggling with dozens of things simultaneously, I constantly was.

Our daily routine right now is a bit like being back in investment banking.

Just worse.

At the time, life could be summarised to pretty much one thing : work and running. Days would be : get to work between 8- 9am, leave around midnight on a good day, not at all on a less-good one, and fit at least an hour of running on the work gym's treadmill in between. When time became slighly more of a commodity, I just added climbing and yoga to the running. Plain and simple.

Looking back at the last few months, it is amazing how much we managed to put on our plate.

It all started when I left my job last Spring. A blessing, for sure, but one which meant that, quickly, I needed to find a fall-back position, as it seemed we could sadly not omit the fact that, job or no jobs, bills needed to be paid. Shame, I know. 

Then, at the beginning of summer and after 2 years of looking around and probably something close to 40 visits, it seemed we had found a house that 1. we liked enough to consider making an offer on (rare), 2. may be in our price range (even rarer). Cool, but it made the job situation even more of an issue, and, since then, our days pretty busy.  Checking whether we could really afford it.  Convincing mortgage provider we could really afford it. Debating future work to be done. Debating how much to offer. Debating if said offer would be accepted.  Debating, following acceptation of offer, whether we would eventually exchange contracts. Exchanging contracts. Starting dealing with architect, builders, contractors. Feeling we are way out of our comfort zone here. And the list goes on.

Very cool house, and we're very fortunate, but boy, I sometimes wish we

had bought something we could straight in!

Then of course, in the midst of all this, I found out I was pregnant. Not that this came as a surprise (I mean, we did work on it). But unlike the relatively stress-free pregnancy #1, it immediately looked that this one may not only be about sitting running around and watching my belly grow.

First, there is Malo, who may be a super easy-going little Monsieur, but needs his fair share of attention (which I am more than happy to give, being the Mother Hen that I am ). Second there is work. The intent here is to try and get a few clients which could provide repeat business, so that, 1. it pays the bills (see above), 2. I can capitalise of this after the birth of #2, when prospecting and marketing may prove a bit challenging (unless in the space of 3 months it becomes OK to turn up at a meeting breastfeeding a newborn). Let's face it, I think I could have chosen a better time to start my own business. Third, there is the new house, which is eating up a lot of my time. Bottom line is, I am snowed under, even without mentioning my attempts at trying to fit some runs in. I do manage to get outside, sometimes, but comparing my weekly activities with that I had when expecting Malo would make me feel like a lazy b*** if I did not know better.

So yes, the good old investment banking life feels a bit like a walk in the park, these days. Fitting in 18-hour work days and a fair amount of running. Phew, easy. Life today is so much worse...

Except I am lying.

It is not worse.

It is indeed busier, if that's possible. It does indeed get frustrating at times, because I miss my running and also hate the feeling of trying to do too many things at once and not doing a good job at any.

But worse? God, no!

I just need to think at the little one growing in my belly, and imagine him/her running around in our new garden or going up the mountain behind our new home. I just need to think about, how, if things work out alright, working for myself will hopefully give me, in the not too distant future, a job I like, time for my kids and time for sports. And most of all, I just need to think that, if I am lucky, like his/her brother, #2 will tell me, as soon as he/she sees me putting my running shoes on : "moi aussi, Maman, courir", while looking for his own running shoes... and it immediately feel so worth it!

(Now if on top of this I could get a few repeat clients before April, and if getting quotes from the builders could be a bit less of a pain, I swear I would not mind).

(Another type of) Here we go again

Yep, it seems some things just won't change when pregnant, being the first or the nth time (as far as I am concerned, "n" will most likely stopped at two, which, admittedly, is not very significant statically-wise).

My run the other day, for instance. Here am I, having a good session. The hard breathing from the first weeks is gone. The pace does not seem excruciatingly slow. The weather is nice, and, as far as running on the pavement goes, this could be very much worse indeed: I am running by the Annecy lake, which is pretty cool city running in my book.

I am approaching one of the canals crossing town from the lake to the river and justifying Annecy's nickname of Venice of the Alps, as I see a pretty big crowd standing by the bridge. In normal circumstances, I might be tempted to curse those people who are standing in the way and going to provoke - oh, no - a drop in my average pace. But then again, these days, I am pregnant, so a) not that bothered by average pace anyway, b) pretty chilled out (for those who may think that I am a b*** when not pregnant,  I admit I made the penultimate sentence up : the days I was systematically obsessed by average pace are long gone).

I hear the music as I get closer, and not only am I not going to worry about human traffic jams and snail-like pace,but it looks like I may even be tempted to stop and join in the crowd.

Turns out there is a small event taking place, with old wooden boats out on the canal and people in period costumes playing folk music from the boats. It is all cheerful and unassuming,  the musicians are clearly having fun, people are watching and clapping, I feel - how embarassingly sappy for someone who, for long, proudly called herself a cynic - a warm fuzzy feeling spreading inside me.

And suddenly, that's it, I am crying.

So here you go. If it were not for the slightly shorter breathing, for the slower pace, for the breast making me look more like a brunette Pamela Anderson than like Paula Radcliffe, for the unmistakably rounder belly, this would have given it away. If I can cry in front of total strangers clapping while listening to folk music, there cannot be any doubt left : I am very pregnant indeed.