Day 83: I was bamboozled
A crime has been committed
We are in the middle of a heatwave here in Upstate New York. It’s unseasonably early to see temps reach this high, and these are the few days of the year that we only slightly regret not having air conditioning in the house.
With all our fans at full blast, my husband and I don’t pay much attention to what’s happening outdoors as we are heads-down at work. (I really mean it when I say this baby better not come early. Mama has too much to do.)
Today was one of those days when we were like ships passing in the night. In our respective offices two floors apart, we each settled into deep focus mode on our priorities of the day, every so often wandering into the kitchen for lunch or chips or more ice.1
Eventually though, the late afternoon fatigue hit. Like meerkats, we popped our heads up to see what the other was doing.
“Let’s go get some ice cream. Something real quick just to get out of the house.”
My husband certainly knows how to speak pregnant lady.
A few minutes later we were out the door, and I settled into the passenger seat. For a fleeting moment I thought to ask where he was planning to take us for our ice cream jaunt.
But I decided to be surprised.
Several minutes later my dear partner turned into the supermarket parking lot. We stocked up on soda water and salsa and cheese.
Surely the next stop would be our ice cream reward, I thought.
Instead, our car turned toward home.
I ventured out with the promise of ice cream and all I came back with was swollen feet.
I was bamboozled, and I will not let my husband hear the end of it.
I feel the urge to document this mundane routine of ours, this norm that is about to be upended by our forthcoming family member and roommate for the next 18 years.