I do not heed caution as often as I should. In general, not just in pregnancy. I am stubborn and bull-headed. I ignore internal alarms, determined to overcome my own physical limitations.
I'm at my worst when I'm backpacking. My third year of law school, I traveled to Mexico with three classmates to climb the Mountain of the Devil. It's not easy to get to the trail head. We had to hire a pack of ex-pats with sand buggies to transport us and our gear, and the journey to the trail head took two hours. The ex-pats were the last souls we saw until we returned to the trail head three days later. A sane, rational person would reflect on the remoteness of the trail and the likelihood of receiving assistance should something go wrong. Then that person would decide to be overly cautious during the hike. Not I, said the fly.
The hike was technical in spots (at the very beginning you have to swing yourself over an incredibly narrow waterfall, Hitesh almost lost his hand during this maneuver). Time and again, I found myself throwing caution to the wind, even while we were resting. During one break, I perched on a very unstable rock formation to pee, and the rocks crashed down mid-stream. I yelped, and tried to discourage the guys from running to my aid. They ignored me, got a glimpse of my bare rump suspended in the air, and then tended to the enormous gash on my arm. My pants were ripped and pee-soaked, but I didn't learn my lesson. Later that day, we were hiking above a very. deep. canyon. The trail veered off through a thick patch of prickly plants, so I decided to take a short cut by scampering up a steep rock face, while wearing my 40-lb pack. A couple times I had to compensate when my balance started to falter, but I made it back to the trail. When I turned around to inspect my route, I almost threw up. Had I lost my footing on that rock face, I would have tumbled hundreds of feet into the very. deep. canyon. Brad still gives me hell about that stunt. Honestly, I still give myself hell about that stunt. Gulp.
I've tried to be a bit better about taking risks while pregnant. I still make Brad mad when I carry heavy groceries, or slide furniture around, or try to reach something on a top shelf without using a step stool. But, generally, I am cautious. Though I took some convincing when it came to SNOMG 2011.
People started warning me on Monday morning. My supervisor insisted that I put in a request to work from home on Wednesday, and hinted that she didn't want to see me in the office on Thursday or Friday. Some coworkers suggested staying home on Tuesday as well. But I wasn't really convinced. I mean, two feet is a lot of snow, but this is CHICAGO. Land of "what's a snow day?" This city does not bat an eye at a foot of snow. Its residents are well-equipped with salt, shovels, snow blowers, down jackets which double as sleeping bags, boots that could carry one across the arctic tundra. We do not stop for inclement weather. We embrace it. I used to walk a mile, to and from law school, in a foot of snow, without giving it a second thought.
So I went to work on Tuesday. But I took the precaution of arriving at 7:30 a.m. to ensure I could leave at 3:30 p.m. And I arranged to work from home on Wednesday. As I was walking home from the el that afternoon, laughing at the incredibly strong winds which were exfoliating my face with ice crystals, I decided that a little caution might be in order. I walked into the apartment, changed into my pajamas, and did not take them off for 36 hours.
Our office was closed yesterday, so I set aside the work I'd brought home, and settled onto the couch with a book. I wrote all of the thank you notes for the baby shower gifts. I played with Maggie, cooked breakfast and lunch and dinner, took care of the laundry. In keeping with my new-found cautious self, I left Maggie's walks to Brad. I also left the shoveling of the deck, stairs, and car to Brad. Thanks, Brad.
This morning, however, I was ready to return to the real world. I wanted a hot shower, real clothes, and fresh air. Brad and I left for work at 8:00. It was 5 degrees outside, so I bundled up. Brad reported that the snow was slippery in spots, so I wore my ice spikes over my snow boots. It was cold, but we made it to the el stop without incident. Slow and steady.
On the el platform, we encountered a massive crowd waiting to board a train. The platform is covered, but otherwise exposed to the elements -- including the 5-degree weather. Folks were doing little dances to keep warm, but I needed to sit down. So I made my way to one of the benches and happily took a seat. And there I sat. For an hour. In 5-degree weather. We watched three trains pass, each filled to the brim. Brad kept asking me if I wanted to leave? To grab something downstairs at Dunkin Donuts? To visit Meghan, Sam and Jane? To walk a block or two and sit in our favorite coffee shop? Wasn't I cold? "I'm fine. We'll be fine. We'll get on the next one." Finally, Brad started walking the length of the platform to warm up his toes, and I realized that I was being stupidly stubborn. My legs were frozen and I was losing sensation in my toes. And I had to pee. Enough already. It was not the time for the return of the pee pants. We returned home, and I arranged to work from here.
Lest you think all the stubborn in me is lost, I am determined to conquer the blue line tomorrow morning. I have thicker socks selected and hand warmers in my bag. I'll make a pit stop at the coffee shop en route. The blue line will not beat me. It's just taking a little longer to win.
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