This past Saturday, as we sat in a beautiful setting, enjoying a yummy meal, I was talking with Sam about the beauty of biology – how pregnancy is designed to become so increasingly uncomfortable toward the end that it makes a woman willing to go through the pain and discomfort of childbirth. At least that’s my take on it, watching friends and family go through the process. Everything goes along just fine and then there’s a sudden shift, when the woman just wants to be done with this whole pregnancy thing.
I almost, almost, achieved that shift this weekend. It was so hot and humid, with no trade winds. If Sam slightly touched me, I snapped at him about how it was just too hot for that. Me, a woman who, eight months ago, couldn’t get enough of my hubby’s body heat to warm my ice-cold hands and feet. Now my feet feel like I’m on fire.
But I avoided the shift, just barely, by sitting in the living room with my feet in a tub of cold water, eating a chocolate popsicle (calcium!), fan on me. And with a trip to the beach. And with the sweet embrace of air conditioning at Border’s. It’s enough to make a girl happy to come to work on Monday, to sit in the artificially cooled environment. This is why I’m working until I go into labor.