Ruvina has apparently taken up Tae Bo. She is very diligent about practicing too. When it's time to take a break from all the kicking, she switches to somersaults and flips, and sometimes I think she's taken up lap swimming. I don't know she manages in such a small space, but probably the flexibility from all that yoga helps out. If I did half as much exercise as she, I'd be in great shape.
She does seem to feel the confinement sometimes, though. At those times, I watch my stomach rock and jump and bulge as she tries to break out, perhaps confusing herself with a bird in a shell. Actually, I imagine her getting suited up in a tiny superhero outfit, getting ready to shoot off into the sky, fist in air.
Despite these constant, forceful reminders of Ruvina's presence, it still doesn't seem real that we're going to have a baby in just about two months! Two months is not long. But it still seems all vague and distant, and a small part of me is convinced I will just remain suspended in this pregnant state forever.
That's not exactly my first choice. I've never been one of those people who desires to be eternally pregnant. My body is getting as antsy as Ruvina is. Everyone says the third trimester you feel hot and tired and uncomfortable, and guess what - it's true! It seems like the day I hit the third trimester, my body suddenly decided, "Enough of this. I'm staging a protest."
First my joints went on strike. That's why whenever I stand up and try to walk, I look like I have no hip joints. My leg muscles had a nervous breakdown and started spazzing out. Then my back decided to start burning and looting. Think smashed up cars and yelling crowds and smoke and fire. My stomach decided to participate by shooting off flares.
My internal cooling system left for vacation, claiming to be overworked and under-appreciated all these years. As it drove off for the beach, I think I heard it yell back, "Thought you were just naturally cold-blooded all this time? No! That was all my hard work. Let's see how you like mid-summer without me!" And then there was some evil laughter.
My body's general manager became concerned about the excessive energy output and flipped the switch to "permanent low-power mode." I read the fine print warning and it says things like, "Caution: Low-power mode will result in tremendous effort to stand up, walk more than 10 feet, or even roll over in bed. You will almost certainly experience frequent breathlessness, panting after one flight of stairs, continual exhaustion, difficulty sleeping, persistent hunger, decreased brain activity, memory loss, unexplained crying, and irrational thoughts, such as the idea that your body has banded together in mutiny."
Despite all these things, I am strangely happy in this stage of life. Ever since I got over throwing up all the time, I have been overall very happy. Kevin might beg to differ, since he gets the most play-by-play in this war of Ruth vs. mutinous body, but it really is true. I stumble out of the fight tired, hungry, and somewhat disoriented, but I get a good nap or something to eat, and then I'm happy again. It's like my psyche chose to show mercy and become my ally. The happy, bubbly Good Fairy decided it's time for "default happy mode." It's kind of weird, but I'm okay with it.
On a side note, I will reassure you once again that Ruvina will not be the name showing up on a birth certificate. Although, it does seem like a very appropriate name for a 3lb pre-birth, exercise-fanatic superhero. We are very close to deciding on a post-birth name. We are also very close to deciding not to tell the name until the baby is born. Because, what if we change our mind? And besides, until the baby is officially born, random strangers think they should still have a say in your choice, and untactful people (don't judge, you could be one of them) feel it is their responsibility to tell you they knew someone with that name who was a total brat/world tyrant/very ugly. But once baby is born, the only people with so little tact as to tell you they hate your name choice (at least to your face) are the ones who would also tell you your baby is ugly, and we don't speak to them anyway.
So, you may very well be left in suspense for two more months, by which time you will probably be so attached to Ruvina that you refuse to call her by any other name. And as long as you also say she is the most beautiful/perfect/intelligent/aerobically fit baby that has ever lived, we'll probably let you get away with it.