I can run. I can run. I can run!
This morning was my dreaded 4-week check-up with the OB, the day I was sure he would steal my sneakers and send me to the pool.
So I wore ballet flats. And kept my mouth shut.
The appointment was at 9:15 a.m. and I sat anxiously in the waiting room, flipping through a Restoration Hardware catalog and dreaming of a backyard with beautiful furniture. When my name was called, I was ushered back for the usual - pee in a cup, stand on a scale, hold out arm for a blood pressure reading. All of which, by the way, were good. Well, the blood pressure, protein and sugar levels were in check. They made no mention of too much weight gain (for my mental well being, I am no longer monitoring that).
Then he came in. The decider of my fate ... or my slightly socially awkward doctor who also has red hair. Was I feeling the baby move? Yes. How did I feel? Good. Let's find the heart beat. OK. He's hiding so let me try here. OK. There he is. Good.
"Any other questions?" he asked.
And with that, I was sent on my way with a paper giving me instructions for the glucose test I get to do at my next visit and a smile (unrelated to the glucose test). I made it without an inquiry or mention of my activity levels and made no request to limit exercise. Awesome!
Of course, I could be faulted for not asking but I figured he knew I was a runner and if he was concerned, he would have said something. Right? Right.
Now excuse me as I plot tomorrow's pre-haircut treadmill.