Come oh Baby, come.

I have been officially banned from playing volleyball.

It was my Man who banned me. After weeks of off and on saying he wasn’t so sure about me diving all over the sand as pregnant as I am, he finally pulled the trigger. Dropped the guillotine. Ruined my life! (just kidding)

I tried the remember-not-to-dive method. Didn’t word. Every time I’d run and jump and land on my hip, I would think, “Oh yeah... I wasn’t supposed to do that...”, and do it again about four minutes later. We have a two-month long rec league going, and I got some hard stares and an older woman (on the other team) nicely reprimanding me with a worried look on her face that I have two people to think about now, after I slid across the floor for a ball or two (and saved them!!).

One game on the sand, I remembered not to dive/fall/jump/roll each time there came a reason to. Of course, this messed up my playing entirely, as I couldn’t save nearly anything from losing us a point. Not fun.

Although I’m sad that he banned me from the only sport I play, I am flattered that he’s worried. Makes me feel like his girl. He doesn’t worry about much.

At eight months, the time is near. I have constant contractions/Braxton Hicks 24/7 (and right now...), the baby is so strong it can kick and literally pick up the computer if it’s resting on my belly. My little mini athlete is trying to bust out of it’s confines. I am greatly looking forward to my baby. I am also greatly looking forward to running fast and light as a feather, and playing volleyball again. And if I work on my shooting, I’ll be joining my man on the basketball court.

Don’t be surprised if I post a picture of our baby here soon. My instincts tell me that it is coming... quickly.