Rock Climbing While Pregnant

rock climbing while pregnant

That's the phrase that I type into the search bar.  Because I am a rock climber.

And I'm friggin' pregnant.

My eyes skim the results- it's a topic I've researched before, actually, so I'm not totally unfamiliar with what's out there.  It's just that now the subject has a level of urgency beyond "mildly curious".

And then my eyes hit the phrase, "Rock climbing while pregnant is a really bad idea."

I snort and roll my eyes.  I do not click the link.  And then I laugh at myself, because apparently it doesn't matter what comes back in my query- the truth is that I'm going to climb, regardless, until I feel like I no longer can.

***

This morning my husband gave me a worried look.

"Maybe you should take the car."

"What?  Why?"

"So I can walk and pick it up later," (this is not an uncommon thing to happen in our one-car household: Nathan uses it as a way to sneak in exercise.)

"Nah.  I want to ride today."

Worried look persists.  "So, um, how long do you think you'll keep riding your bike?"

Oh.

I swivel my chair to look at him.  "Until my balance gets too screwy," I say firmly.

I just worry about you falling," he explains.  "And, I don't know- hitting the curb or something."

"Babe I have to exercise," I say.  "You don't want me to turn into a fat piece of crap..."

He gives me a speculative look, as though considering the merits of this scenario, and I narrow my eyes at him.

"...it wouldn't be good for the baby, either."

***

I am coasting down the long hill of my morning commute, and resisting the urge to yell at strangers, "I'm pregnant!"  My face is plastered with a ridiculous grin, and I think to myself,

This makes me happy.  And anything that makes me happy must necessarily make the baby happy.  And the happier the baby is, the happier the baby will be.

So yes, I will keep rock climbing now that I know I'm pregnant.

(because let's face it- this little critter has already taken than one lead fall...)