Playing With Fire

I want to go outside and do dangerous things. Does that make me a bad mother?

For days now, I've been blowing my nose, nursing my cough and forcing food down my throat even though I have no appetite at all. For someone who doesn't handle being sick very well, I go big when I bother to catch a virus.

Because I spent almost three days only getting out of bed to go to the kitchen or bathroom, I was dying to get out of the house yesterday afternoon even though I still felt terrible. I needed some fresh air on my face and a change of scenery. I went with Roy and two of his friends to watch them play racquetball in a gym on campus.

I wouldn't call myself an athletic person. I like to swim and play a few sports just for fun, but I just don't have the competitive drive essential to great athletes. But when I saw three guys smacking a rubber ball around a small room, I wanted to do nothing more than join in. I sat in the viewing area, sniffling and hacking, wondering why I wanted to play all of a sudden. Then I realized I had fallen victim to a classic dilemma: I want what I can't have.

Sick people should not play aggressive sports that require lot of movement and heavy exertion. Pregnant women should not partake in any activity in which small rubber balls may or may not collide with flesh. I have absolutely no business running around and risking a nasty bruise or two, but I couldn't get my mind off the idea for a long time.

Photo: Me and Carly rock jumping at our dad's lake house on Rough River Lake. Serious amounts of fun.

To put it simply- I want to play. I want to go outside and play volleyball in the sand. I want to go to a swimming pool and jump off the high dive. I want to be able to fall down and get back up like it's just no big deal.

I'm not used to being this vulnerable. I may just have a bad case of spring fever, but I can't help feeling a hint of frustration that I'm not as physically resilient as I used to be. I understand that I'm sharing my body with a precious baby right now, and I would never do anything that might pose even the smallest threat to her. All I'm saying is that I miss being able to take a hit.

I'm looking forward to a day when I'm not as fragile as a Fabergé egg, but in the meantime, you can find me in the backyard firing my BB gun at whatever I can get my swollen little hands on.