JenThe last few days I've only felt like lying on the couch and whining. I'd heard that it was hard to...
Jen

The last few days I've only felt like lying on the couch and whining. I'd heard that it was hard to be pregnant in the heat, but this is ridiculous. Even my doctor, at my first appointment in March, commented about the fact that I would be pregnant through the summer. I dismissed her comment, but she obviously knew better than me. So now I whine. Bear with me, please.

I grew up in Arizona, so part of me thinks I should be used to this. I can hear some of you saying, "But Arizona is a dry heat!" I just remember that George Carlin line: "So is a blow torch." I think that I was in New England long enough to convince my subconscious that weather like this occurs only occasionally and for a few days at a time. Not for months at a time. Every region of the country has its curses. New England may have some icky winter weather, but the South (and the Southwest) has it's summer. I can't speak for the rest of the country. Hot is hot is hot. Humid or dry, heat reaches a certain level where walking out of a climate controlled environment and into the day feels like getting whacked in the face with wall of hot bricks.

The one time I did go out on Saturday before noon, it was to look at birth announcements for a few minutes and decide on a type face (yes, I know it's early for all that, but I know what I want and have it crossed off the list). Wouldn't you know it, the salesperson had to comment on how "big" I am. I was then hot and pissed. Not a good combination to be dealing with people, so I cancelled my other small errands and went back to the couch. The reality was that the heat was probably getting to that salesperson, too. Obviously the couch was the safest place for the weekend, before my hormonally heightened state and the heightened mercury caused me to say something I might regret.

I think we watched three or four movies this weekend, in addition to my son's usual weekend repertoire of "Toy Story," Theodore Tugboat, and Arthur, and followed by Lego airplanes and train setups. I made a pie early one morning just to have something different to do - and 8:30am was already too warm to roll out a decent crust. I looked through magazines, searching for pictures that might inspire that cool feeling. I looked through cookbooks for foods I could make that did not require the oven or stove. Most recipes I found would require a trip out to the over-air conditioned grocery store. I longed to open one of those freezer doors and stand there soaking in the cold, pushing the grocery store's electric bill a few cents higher as revenge for their often overpriced produce. But the heat had just zapped my energy so I remained on the couch and dreamed. I read 500 pages of a 900 page novel and finally became involved with characters I had struggled with wanting to know for the first 200 pages. The baby bounced around my abdomen and poked and kicked visibly. He was hot, too. I drank water like a fish to stay hydrated. I coped. What else was there to do?

At night, I enjoyed other kinds of summer days in my dreams. I dreamed of lazy days by the ocean, when the heat can be called sultry instead of oppressive and an almost imperceptible breeze off the water in the late afternoon lifts the hairs on the back of your neck to tingling. When the most important thing to do each afternoon is to go get some ice cream for that night's dinner. Nights turn just cool enough that a light cotton sweater feels nice with your comfy old shorts and bare feet for a walk along a ribbon of sand in the moonlight.

I dreamed of nights when there is no moonlight, but there is light in every step. Nights when the tide is going out but phosphorescence remains in the sand below the high tide line, beckoning you to dance and play just to see the way it sparkles with your every movement.

In the mornings (well, really a number of times all through the night) I woke up back in the heat of our first full Southern summer. Reminded that we were definitely not at the beach. The ceiling fan whirred above me doing its best to help out the air conditioning and spread a little movement through the air. The baby somersaulted in the belly and all I could do was try to float back to that summer place of my dreams. PregnancyAndBaby.com

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