Mama's little baby likes...

...big, fat doughy pierogies. And gnocchi. And those Alexa organic red potato slices with rosemary and olive oil.

No need to get fancy, of course. A big hot steamy baked Idaho with a sprinkle of coarse sea salt is just as divine as the pasta-ensconced varieties.

I have a feeling the kid will have a special place in his heart for Mr. Potato Head one day. (Though he might try to eat it, not play with it.)

When he's not making me pine for potatoes, he's got me jonesing for dark chocolate.

And--this is weird--really dark, bitter green vegetables. (Tonight I had brussel sprouts cooked in lemon juice, garlic and olive oil with my pierogies and Baby and I had a little post-meal reverie. It was wonderful.)

Plus, it's hard to go to bed without some pineapple or watermelon. Or both.

But peanut butter, any kind of meat, finfish and bananas? Blech.

This kid is picky!

As I feast on carb-o-licious deliciacies, I just keep reminding myself that running and nursing will be one hell of a calorie- and pound-zapping combo post-partum.

For now, though, the Tater Tot and I are boasting quite the appetite!

Pffffffffffft. (That’s the sound of my bubble being burst.)

It’s 5:30 a.m. I squeeze myself into one of my last pairs of non-maternity workout pants, make a mockery of my size-large sports bra with my size-XXXXL maternity cleavage, grab a t-shirt, heart monitor, socks/shoes, and off I head to the gym.

I offer a cheery hello to the nice lady at the YMCA reception desk, deciding to ignore her comment, “I am surprised YOU are still here!” and bound up the stairs.

Just like any other health-conscious working man or woman, I find myself a spot on the row of elliptical machines, strategically position my water bottle, towel and iPhone, hit start—and off I go to the Black-Eyed Peas.

And let me tell you…Imma Be workin’ it just like I did when I didn’t have a bundle of joy growing in my uterus. Whoop, whoop!

I’d set the timer for 30 minutes, but what the hell, let’s make it 40.

Pregnant lady? I don’t see a pregnant lady. Looking across from me at the mirrors by the weights, my baby bump obscured by the elliptical, I just see a flushed face, still-relatively-slim arms and legs pumping, no different from the face and limbs of the flat-bellied chick next to me.
Forty minutes later, I am admittedly a bit wobbly legged when I hop off the machine, but I get dizzy all the time these days, whether I am climbing off an elliptical or getting out of my chair at work. All that extra progesterone will do that.

Dizzy spell aside, I am filled with confidence as I head down the stairs, mentally patting myself on the back for having burned almost 600 calories and for clocking in an extra 10 minutes.

That feeling lasts all of about one minute: At the bottom of the steps, the YMCA receptionist is looking up at me with a tsk tsk expression on her face. “You know, we do have an elevator,” she chides me, likely in the same voice she uses for the Silver Sneakers YMCA patrons. “Climbing all those stairs is a lot for someone in your condition to handle.”

Ugh, my condition? Can’t we just forget about that for one 40 minute period? The little guy had been ellipticalled to sleep and politely hadn’t given me a single nudge during my entire workout…so why did she have to nudge me? Is it so wrong to want to escape from feeling like a human incubator for one short time period a few days a week?

Then, rubbing it in all the more, YMCA lady adds, “You look a little peaked. Are you sure you don’t want to sit down for a minute?”

Um, nope, I’m good.

I’m starting to understand why back in the day, being pregnant meant entering a period of confinement.

A few new developments in the life of a pregnant running enthusiast

1. It's a BOY! Yay! I think I like the sibling birth order of boy-girl-boy. For one thing, I'm really happy that our oldest gets a little buddy to follow him around (and to inherit his incredible collection of Thomas the Tank Engine trains, which he lost all interest in exactly one week before his Thomas the Tank Engine themed fourth birthday party three years ago.) And as nice as it might have been for our daughter to have a little sister, hey, she won't have to share her lipstick (or boyfriends) with anyone...and speaking of boyfriends, I do pity the ones she brings home, with two protective brothers now surrounding her on both sides.

2. Running, like cinch-waist dresses, Pinot Noir, and demi-cup bras, has joined the growing list of things I'm looking forward to enjoying once again...after November 2. (Perhaps after December 2, or January 2, for that matter--anyone know how long it takes to be able to run again after recovering from a c-section?) It's very hot here in South Florida, even at 6 a.m. when I used to hit the trail, and I now have this large appendage that bounces unpleasantly when I'm in motion. Plus, last month I managed to score myself a case of mastitis, an infection typically suffered by breastfeeding mothers, not pregnant women, by what I'd originally thought was a brilliant solution to my jogging bra friction problem: wearing two sports bras, both at least two sizes too small. Who knew this solution could cause a painful bacterial infection that led to a fever and really awful pain? Anyway, consider me benched.

3. Please don't say you told me so, but I like yoga now. (I'm ducking.) After railing against yoga for being too blah for good old Type A me, I am now an enthusiastic student at the prenatal yoga class Monday nights at the Weston Yoga Studio. An enthusiastic student, but not a particularly good one: standing in the tree pose on my gimpy left foot (those running injuries and plantar fascitis are worse than ever now that I'm sporting so much extra weight) for a mere 120 seconds caused me to sweat like I was sprinting. And the first time I tried Downward Dog with a big belly I accidentally almost did a somersault. But this is something my body really needs to learn how to do, especially now. (Clearly!) And, the afterglow is pretty awesome.

4. I now have a love-hate relationship now with my spin class. What I love: (1) that in positions 2 and 3, it really feels like I'm running, weightlessly, (2) I can safely enjoy the adreneline rush of intense cardio without worrying about falling on my face, (3) it's in the pitch dark at 5:30 a.m.--so no one else can really see how absurd I now look, and if they did see it, they'd probably be too sleepy to process the image. What I hate: (1) I am so tired now and it's really hard to peel myself out of bed for a workout, (2) sitting in position 1 to pedal causes my belly to rub against my legs and strains my back, not to mention that the tiny little seat seems to have shrunken as my no longer tiny little seat has grown, (2) I am so testy and hormonal these days that something as minor as the instructor choosing to play a Country-Western song incites the spinner's equivelant of road rage. (Country? Seriously? Seriously?)

So that's it. I might not be updating much these days, but I'm still a runner at heart. Well, I'm off to go research jogging strollers.