Rainy-Day Chaos
Californians in this area do not know what to do when it rains. It’s understandable—it hardly ever rains, and, in my experience, when it does rain, it rains hard. Yesterday was a particularly apocalyptic day, with high winds and downpours that lasted for most of the morning and afternoon. The environment, too, can’t handle such odd weather. Branches cracked from trees; leaves filled the streets; power lines went down; streets flooded. I ventured out only briefly, to drive Andrew to work after my doctor’s appointment, and hydroplaned slightly as a made a very slow right turn.
Though I was snug inside yesterday afternoon, the chaos of the day took over here as well. My cervical exam yesterday was particularly aggressive—the midwife had a hard time reaching the cervix because little Whittemora’s head was in the way—and several hours after I got home, I began having some pretty heavy bleeding. Bleeding is just one of those things you don’t expect or want to see for, oh, nine-plus months, and so I began to worry. Around this same time, I walked through our breakfast nook and realized it had flooded—water was dripping in through the window frame and had pooled along the wall and in the corner. I grabbed towels and sopped everything up, then called Andrew, who called the landlord.
While all this was in motion, I called our hospital’s labor & delivery department to tell them what was happening and see if I needed to come in. As I answered their many questions, I looked out the window and saw an electric-company truck drive straight into our backyard. Our backyard is not grass—it’s just dirt—and yesterday it was a huge expanse of mud. The truck’s tracks gouged the yard. Not much later, with rain pouring down, another truck pulled into our driveway—to pull the first truck out. It had gotten mired in the mud and could not back out. Our landlord was there supervising; when I was done on the phone (no need to go to the hospital), I beckoned him in to see the leak. He was stressed out about the yard and the trucks and there was nothing he could really do since it was still pouring, so I just laid out more towels.
Eventually it was time to pick up Andrew. I skipped yoga (the doctor’s advice had been to take it easy for a few hours), and we looked forward to a cozy evening at home; we planned to make a nice pot of soup. Not long after we got home, however, we lost our power. Part of our block was pitch-dark. We found some candles, had a snack, napped together on the couch, then went out for a late Mexican dinner. When we got home at 10pm, the lights were back on.
The whole day just seemed strange—it’s hard to describe how weather like this upends the normal order of things around here. There was a Halloween-y, spooky atmosphere on the streets, and I just felt like something was about to happen. Indeed, in the middle of the night last night I began feeling some…something. And I’m still feeling them now. I won’t yet call them contractions. But I would not be surprised at all if the little one has sensed the atmospheric disturbances and has decided it is the ideal time to see the world. The rain is falling harder now, and the rooms of our house just darkened as the clouds rolled in full-force. It is a portentous morning.
Though I was snug inside yesterday afternoon, the chaos of the day took over here as well. My cervical exam yesterday was particularly aggressive—the midwife had a hard time reaching the cervix because little Whittemora’s head was in the way—and several hours after I got home, I began having some pretty heavy bleeding. Bleeding is just one of those things you don’t expect or want to see for, oh, nine-plus months, and so I began to worry. Around this same time, I walked through our breakfast nook and realized it had flooded—water was dripping in through the window frame and had pooled along the wall and in the corner. I grabbed towels and sopped everything up, then called Andrew, who called the landlord.
While all this was in motion, I called our hospital’s labor & delivery department to tell them what was happening and see if I needed to come in. As I answered their many questions, I looked out the window and saw an electric-company truck drive straight into our backyard. Our backyard is not grass—it’s just dirt—and yesterday it was a huge expanse of mud. The truck’s tracks gouged the yard. Not much later, with rain pouring down, another truck pulled into our driveway—to pull the first truck out. It had gotten mired in the mud and could not back out. Our landlord was there supervising; when I was done on the phone (no need to go to the hospital), I beckoned him in to see the leak. He was stressed out about the yard and the trucks and there was nothing he could really do since it was still pouring, so I just laid out more towels.
Eventually it was time to pick up Andrew. I skipped yoga (the doctor’s advice had been to take it easy for a few hours), and we looked forward to a cozy evening at home; we planned to make a nice pot of soup. Not long after we got home, however, we lost our power. Part of our block was pitch-dark. We found some candles, had a snack, napped together on the couch, then went out for a late Mexican dinner. When we got home at 10pm, the lights were back on.
The whole day just seemed strange—it’s hard to describe how weather like this upends the normal order of things around here. There was a Halloween-y, spooky atmosphere on the streets, and I just felt like something was about to happen. Indeed, in the middle of the night last night I began feeling some…something. And I’m still feeling them now. I won’t yet call them contractions. But I would not be surprised at all if the little one has sensed the atmospheric disturbances and has decided it is the ideal time to see the world. The rain is falling harder now, and the rooms of our house just darkened as the clouds rolled in full-force. It is a portentous morning.
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