So, Scott has remembered why he was so enthusiastic about the idea of moving away from the Midwest. It has a little something to do with this:
And, most of all, this:
The first two show what 13.5 inches of snow looks like after it’s been arranged into drifts by 40mph winds. The last demonstrates what Scott’s been doing a LOT of in the past month. Yesterday it was 13.5 inches, two weeks ago it was 6, a month ago it was 7. Combine that with the fact that I can count the number of times it’s been above 30 degrees in the past two months on one hand AND the fact that for the rest of this week one hand is all I’ll need to demonstrate the current temperature (whimper) and…well…suddenly a winter in South Carolina seems like a most logical and pleasing proposition.
But here we are. Oh, and what am I doing while Husband slaves away in the bitter cold? What I think just about anyone in their final 3 weeks of pregnancy would do:
Spectated. I have no intention of falling on my keister, and such a dangerous (if comedic) event is all that awaits me if I haul my considerable girth, decreased range of motion, and negligible sense of balance out of this house. Boy, am I ever thankful to be working from home!
So I stayed inside, documenting the great snowfall and Husband’s efforts to eradicate it from various paved surfaces. But if you think that shoveling the driveway was the worst part of our “snowmageddon” experience, you’d be wrong. I believe that honor goes to the night before, when in the midst of the “devastating”, “historic”, and “monumental” storm he received quite a scare.
I feel I should start things off by saying that he was already half convinced that I was going to go into labor that night purely because it would be the most dramatic and worst possible moment for it. Never mind the fact that I still have three weeks until my due date and the doctor’s appointment from the day before showed no indications that LilRunr would jump the gun.
It was in this mindset that Scott attempted to settle in on the couch for a relaxing evening of alternately watching “The Biggest Loser” and the raging snowstorm with me. I had been casually drinking water, setting the glass beside me on the couch periodically. There was a time when I’d use my belly as a built-in TV tray, but LilRunr objects strenuously to having his quarters imposed upon. Or maybe he just LIKES to kick me in the ribs. Either way, I try to “squish” him as little as possible.
Some time later, I got up to use the restroom. When I came back, I noticed a wet spot on the couch approximately where I’d been sitting. “What is THAT?” I said to Scott before my brain had a chance to process “glass of water + condensation = water spot on the couch.”
Calling his attention to it was a BAD idea. His eyes went to the spot, to me, to the spot, and back to me. He was speechless.
“It’s not me.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m telling you, it’s not me.”
“Do you feel OK?”
“I’m fine, I just remembered…I had a glass of water and I must have spilled some or something.”
“ARE YOU SURE? Do we need to call the doctor?”
“No! It’s not me, I promise. I wasn’t even sitting there. I was farther to the left.”
This conversation continued for some time. It was exhausting. I wasn’t sure that I’d ever manage to convince him that I hadn’t gone into labor. I’m guessing that the utter lack of contractions eventually conveyed what my words couldn’t. Whew.
The moral of the story — I need to try not to do things that will inadvertently incite panic. Thing #1 is “no spilled liquids on seating areas.” I have a feeling #1 will have some friends before my time as a pregnant lady is up and my time as a mom begins…