By the time you read this, I may be dead.

Okay okay, I’m exaggerating. But I’ll definitely be sore and most likely still in my PJs, moaning and groaning about my back and my feet.

A mile and a half walk — uphill both ways, it surely seemed — from our car to the Cure at the Hollywood Bowl pretty much wiped me out. To give myself some credit, even if daily cardio sessions were being squeezed into my schedule, I still don’t think the walk would’ve been pleasant, per se. A bit more doable, sure, and maybe I would’ve been able to stroll a bit faster than turtle’s pace. But it definitely wouldn’t have been all that much easier.

Being preggo makes even the smallest things seem hilariously impossible. Walks, especially uphill, are on the list. Shoelaces are as well — I wore tennies for the first time since my belly popped and had to ask Hubster to tie them for me. Getting to the toilet in time also posed an issue during our concert extravaganza. Happily singing along, I get that urge. But then there’s three great songs, one right after the other, and when I finally stand up, I realize I have to go pronto. I almost paid someone to roll me down the hill to where the bathrooms were.

Luckily, it was all worth it. Sam enjoyed a great set from inside the womb, kicking and wiggling through the whole thing, and his mom saw one of her favorite bands — and the Bowl for the last time for quite a while, because it’d take reincarnations of John and George joining Paul and Ringo to get me back there with this belly!

(Photo: Robert Smith of the Cure at the Hollywood Bowl Saturday night, by Kelly A. Swift, for the Orange County Register)

Posted in: Me and My Monster - Roxanne Hack |

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