Zizza has been taking a tumbling class this fall. The class is through the city rec program and is held in the “recreation annex” of the library. This is all fine except that in the recreation annex hallway where the mothers wait while their children tumble there are concrete floors and no chairs. Actually, if I wanted to drag a chair down the hallway I could do so but that’s an awful lot of fuss.
The first week of the class was ok but by the next week I found that sitting still for fifty minutes resulted in fierce nausea during the fifty minutes to follow, minutes in which still more sitting still was required as I drove to and from school. After all of that sitting still it was a miracle if I recovered from the effects during any portion of the remaining day.
On the third week, armed with that knowledge I simply did not sit. I wandered back and forth along the hall way, I stood and swayed out side the door, I accompanied Enzo to the bathroom and back as many times as he requested to go. It worked. I made it out of there no sicker than I went in. For a few weeks the odd looks from the other mothers, all camped out on the concrete were the only discomfort that came from my time there. I thought about breaking into their conversation (they are all friends and neighbors) and announcing “Hey guys, I’m pregnant that’s why I’m pacing here rather than sitting while I pretend not to be eavesdropping on your conversation” but that seemed awkward so I just let them wonder. Then I reached nine weeks gestation and the back pain made it’s debut. I still couldn’t sit for fear of vomiting but the standing made it necessary to ice when I got home.
Basically what I’m saying here is: tomorrow is the last day of the class hallelujah!
Luckily Ziz made good use of her time there. Her cartwheels are now nearly vertical,or at least almost nearly vertical and she pronounces her teacher’s name right about 30% of the time.
The teacher’s name is Miss Andrea. Ziz persists in saying “Andréa.”
“Mom,” she says to me, “Miss Andréa said I need to practice my handstands” and I say “That’s great honey go ahead and practice but first can you say ‘Andrea?” We’ve been working hard at this. My goal is that at her recital on Saturday she’ll call her teacher only by her actual name with no extra accents thrown in. I’m guessing Miss Andrea won’t have a lot of time for individual conversations that day so I think it’s an attainable goal.