We gave up and slept in the living room last night. No amount of fans redirecting air around corners and through doorways could get our room cool enough for deep sleep. I gave up first. While thinking Paul to be sufficiently unconscious, I tiptoed down the hallway, narrowly missing a fan, and collapsed on the couch in front of our air conditioning unit, which I promptly turned on 'high'. It was not long before Paul emerged without a word and sank into the other couch. We both sprawled, stretching out our appendages exposing all of out sweaty nooks and crannies.
Armpits, kneepits, elbowpits, it was the pits.
I laid awake for a while counting the heartbeats in my abdomen until I realized I was on the longer of couches. I raised up and looked at Paul cramped up on the love seat. I touched his shoulder gently and whispered his name. He didn't answer. I rubbed my hands through his soft hair and returned to my spacious sofa. Before long I, too, drifted off.
My dreams were vivid. Smells were potent and sounds were penetrating. I was in Taiwan in a supermarket. Everyone spoke English. Some one dropped a bag of malt balls and I tried to help clean up. They were angry. I felt confused and wondered into a toy aisle full of miniature tennis rackets. No one spoke English anymore and I was frightened.
I woke up carving malt balls.
The living room was very cool so I turned the cooler off for a time. I imagined my electric bill and couldn't fall back asleep. My body ached and whined when I walked into the kitchen to check the time. It was 6:23. I laid back down and stared at my ceiling fan, wondering if it needed dusted. I missed my bed. I missed cuddling with Paul. He was so far away scrunched up on that little couch.
I tried not to cry.
My stomach ached with pain, and I realized my body was upset by late night brownies. I squirmed around until the feeling subsided. It was time to get up.
I'm starting to dread my ultrasound. I fear that the upon examining my baby the nurse will excuse herself and retrieve the doctor who will inform me that my baby is missing it's limbs but otherwise seems like a healthy floating torso.
Or my baby is neither boy nor girl, but a happy combo of the two.
Or that my baby has some other complication that will affect their life in a severe way.
And somehow, that will be my fault.
But I'm hoping in eight days time I'll be lying on my back looking at a healthy baby on a screen and knowing whether I'll be taking a son or daughter to the park to swing next fall. And I'll have two of my favorite people with me to share the experience. The only thing that could make that better would be a slurpee.
Blue raspberry would be nice. Just saying. :)