My Three Pound Bowling Ball.

We went to the doc yesterday. I told Joey in the purple examining room before she came in that I hoped today she would tell me she had made a big mistake, and I am already showing signs of labor and will probably have this baby within three days or so.
Instead, she said I am growing very normal, and she doesn't think this baby will be very big. In fact, she said as she squeezed my belly a little, she thinks this baby is only about three pounds right now.
Three pounds.
Are you freaken kidding me?
Three pounds, and my hips feel like baby rattles? Three pounds, and I can barely, I mean barely, turn myself over in bed at night? Three pounds, and I have people ask me everyday when I am due, in a tone that may as well be asking, So, are you like due, tomorrow?
I want to lie, but I get embarrassed instead and tell them the hard truth: September. I don't say when in September; maybe they'll think September first. Ha.
I was disappointed as we went down in the elevator, letting the fact sink in that this baby is growing normally, that I don't have a ten pounder on the way. Not that I wanted one of those, but I've been telling myself over the last couple of weeks the reason I am so darn uncomfortable, lazy, and tired is because I am growing a king size kid in there.
No royalty for me, and no more pity parties either.
I almost put my Y membership on hold because I have no motivation to go there, but the lady told me on the phone that I must come in and sign papers to do it. But after the doctor's appointment I put my exercise clothes on (ohh the last eight weeks of pregnancy, where my butt seems to grow at the same pace as my belly--O wait--that is happening my whole pregnancy), but instead of a nice smooth round shape its squishy and dimply--especially noticeable in my exercise pants--and grabbed my water and was on my way.
It felt good. I need those endorphins. They help me counter-act my dimply butt.
Joey has been going on crazy runs lately, in the middle of the day in a hundred degrees. He comes home, dripping sweat like he just ran through the sprinklers, and I can barely look at him I am so jealous. I am usually sitting at the table on the computer, or in the recliner waking up from a nap, and seeing him and all that sweat, his chest heaving up and down makes me feel like an ever growing invalid.
I miss runs, I miss kickboxing, I miss sweating.