Life at Kentucky Speed

One of the basic principles of our marriage is that Sam moves at Kentucky speed, and I move at New Jersey speed. I walk and talk fast; I can get a lot done in a day if I need to. I can ordinarily do anything I want to do--tackle a list of chores, squeeze in a weekend trip, add a couple of projects--I can make the time. Last spring I taught our capstone seminar for the first time, helped renovate the new house, served as media director at church, and presented at a conference two days before our wedding (which was also planned that spring). It was just--life.

But not lately. I never understood the whole "don't lift anything heavy" approach to pregnancy. I mean, I understood that the actual process of giving birth would be physically taxing and that some things might be a bit more difficult, but just because of one's size at the very end. But against all my best intentions and feminist principles, I've been thinking differently these days, and it's not just a factor of my upcoming move and the barely repressed laziness that's at war with my "get-things-done" upbringing. I'm at 18 weeks, and I've gained just about 4 pounds. So I look about the same, unless I'm wearing pajamas (a state I aspire to most of the time but grudgingly leave behind when out in public) and you're looking closely. No big size difference, no protruding belly to get in the way or explain physical awkwardness.

But the fatigue--oh, the fatigue. I eat breakfast and then need a break. I scheme about how I can time my finishing up with mopping for when Sam will also be heading downstairs and can carry the bucket of water for me. He offered to take the laundry basket upstairs the other night, and I wanted to weep with relief. Apparently it has something to do with the change in blood flow. Which I'm sure also applies to my brain and also explains why my congenital forgetfulness has escalated to complete blackouts where I can't remember, even if I try, whether I've done things . . . not just things like leaving the iron on, but things like whether I've ever taught a particular course.

I'm not complaining, just observing this science experiment in which I've become both subject and researcher. The other day, someone said: "Of course, Tara will be perfectly able to work up to the beginning of March . . ." Exactly what I would have said before, but now I'm imagining myself lugging around something that weighs about 30 pounds with every step I want to take. If someone attached a 30-lb weight to me, you can bet I'd minimize mobility immediately under the best of circumstances. In my current state, I can't even imagine getting out of the house.