The combination of being pregnant and growing older makes me more attached to being at home. More and more, I take restorative comfort in the familiar couch, the wooden frames of our dining room threshold, the little nooks and crannies that make home HOME.

No matter how exciting the roadtrip, no matter how great the people we are venturing off to see, no matter how climactic the event we attend, these days, the thought of leaving home means two things: it’s going to be a long trip because we have to stop all the time for me to stretch or use the loo, and, if we’re staying overnight, I will lose sleep and be even more tired the next day.

So, you can imagine how excited I was to get through this past weekend which marked the absolute last planned roadtrip for me. On Saturday, I headed to Columbus for a conference I was to present at and have been preparing for diligently for weeks (hence the few blog posts in October).

My plan was to head to the heart of the heartland on Friday when I get an odd text from my buddy Christy whose house I was to be staying at Friday night. In the text she informs me she is sick but I am still welcome to stay.

Clearly, she has not been informed that I am the lead consumer of Purell’s hand sanitizer and the most informed citizen reading the CDC’s website. (Center for Disease Control)

Sick?

How sick, I ask?

“…well, it’s knocked me off my feet this week.”

Christy, my childhood friend who was the first person I met when I moved to Ohio when I was 8 years old, was the lead point guard on our basketball teams. She was an athletic volleyball player and is a general knows no sickness kind of gal. For her to say she was knocked off her feet means for a pregnant, low immunity system waddler like myself these days, there was a 35% of my collapsing Saturday morning from her bug and a 100% chance of my getting SOME sort of viral infection.

It was a no brainer.

So, I had no place to stay in Columbus Friday night and ended up getting up at 5:15am Saturday morning (OOOOUUUUUCCCCCCCHHHHHH) and driving to Buckeyeland for the conference that started at 8am with registration. My presentation wasn’t until 9:40am, but I wanted to get there early and test out my AV equipment and relax.

At 5:15am, I expected to crawl like a cavewoman out of bed, dreading the cold, and trying to leave Nick undisturbed. To my sweet surprise, Nick, the loyal cheerleader he is for all things I try to achieve, pops out of bed when the alarm sounds, turns on all the lights, and starts fist pumping. I was putting on my jewelry and make-up with the speed of a tortoise when he begins blasting Kanye West’s, “Stronger,” (my favorite pump me up song) and starts clapping like it’s game day. I smile.

I make it to Columbus without any problems and my presentation on feminism, race, and politics in the Midwest goes beautifully. I receive countless compliments from professors from all over the country and even an invitation to submit my work into an academic journal. The raving strokes my very tired and dusty ego which hasn’t been activated in a long time. Around 2pm, I duck out when I feel Isaiah happily kicking his excitement and my already low bank of energy begin to go into the red.

I head home to Cleveland.

Nick and I celebrate Saturday night with a dinner date at Anatolia Cafe, a mediterranean restaurant not far from our house and beam like stars at our table. It was wonderful but I was glad that the traveling piece was over. That night, I nearly drowned taking a extra bubbly bubble bath to relax because I nearly fell asleep in the warmth of our new tub. (I guess I’m not used to such luxuries.)

And so, here we are, approaching week 30 of pregnancy, and continuing our efforts to make room for Isaiah and prepare the nursery. As he gains momentum, weight, and strength with each passing week, my appetite and fatigue are skyrocketing. I believe I slept 11 hours straight Saturday night and still felt like I could use a nap in the afternoon. Knowing, though, that I have no plans for the rest of the pregnancy relaxes my body and mind.

Nick I agreed last night that each week of pregnancy feels like you’re counting upward toward 40 weeks. 5 weeks. 10 weeks. 20 weeks. But once you hit 30 weeks, it suddenly feels like you’re counting down. Very similar to New Year’s Eve, we’re just anxiously waiting for the Big Apple (Big Baby) to slowly drop and make his way into the world.