Marathons
This weekend my husband and his friend did the Okinawa marathon, which has something like 10,000 registrants. He finished it, which was great, because last year it rained something awful (tropical storms are the worst) and he had to quit because of his feet, the details of which I will spare the internet. So that was fun. If you ever find yourself being a marathon spectator I would recommend 'marathon bingo' because it's amazing how many people dress up for the marathon. There were two Winnie-the-poohs and a spiderman, and we didn't even stay for the whole thing because we had to drive back to meet them at the end of the race. So given that people dress up in costumes to run 26.2 miles and, also, watching a marathon is a little boring, we played bingo and it was fun. I had prizes and everything, and I felt really good about myself because I normally have these great ideas but never actually follow through on them, but by God, this time I did; there were bingo cards and prizes and everything.
Also this weekend was the last of February, which means that I am in the home stretch of my own personal marathon, my final pregnancy. Well, maybe that's too optimistic, but I have three months left, and that's something. I was thinking that because this is the last time I will be pregnant, I should keep a diary or something, but I am not good at cherishing the precious moments like that. I wrote about my daughter's birth and it was a twelve-page jeremiad against Lester Naval Hosptial and the enduring stupidity of nearly everyone, with complaints about the weather. Plus, if I kept any sort of honest diary, I would probably have to admit to the shocking amounts of caffeine that I recklessly consume on a daily basis, and God knows I don't want that coming back at me when my daughter asks why she has ADD, because I plan to blame the high-voltage power lines that we live beneath.
Also this weekend was the last of February, which means that I am in the home stretch of my own personal marathon, my final pregnancy. Well, maybe that's too optimistic, but I have three months left, and that's something. I was thinking that because this is the last time I will be pregnant, I should keep a diary or something, but I am not good at cherishing the precious moments like that. I wrote about my daughter's birth and it was a twelve-page jeremiad against Lester Naval Hosptial and the enduring stupidity of nearly everyone, with complaints about the weather. Plus, if I kept any sort of honest diary, I would probably have to admit to the shocking amounts of caffeine that I recklessly consume on a daily basis, and God knows I don't want that coming back at me when my daughter asks why she has ADD, because I plan to blame the high-voltage power lines that we live beneath.