I have spring fever. Bad. New England has the best spring ever, I think. But waiting for it is like waiting for Christmas morning. Some days its warm, but rainy so you can’t enjoy it. Some days its sunny, but freezing cold so you can’t enjoy it then either. And then there are those rare, illusive March days where the stars align and it is miraculously sunny AND warm at the same time. And you have to go to work. So, you sit in your office, pressed against your window, wishing you were in a field of posies somewhere wearing gingham and toting a picnic basket.
Because I’m pregnant and any kind of movement at this point takes an enormous amount of planning and energy, I have been laying low at my house for the past few weeks. I lay on my couch on my little heating pad, watching television, and, you know, growing a child. But I’m over that. Totally over it. I came home yesterday and when I walked into my house, it just smelled dark and dingy and so inside-ish. Sort of like what I imagine a bear’s cave smells like after a long winter. So, I threw open the blinds and the windows and let some fresh air in. And then Chris came home.
“What the heck are you doing?” he asked, immediately beginning to close the windows.
“I’m airing out the house,” I said.
“Yeah, but its 30 degrees outside!”
Minor technicality. It didn’t feel that cold to me. And if Chris would just adjust his hormone levels to mine right now like a decent husband would do, I’m sure he wouldn’t think it was that cold either.
I’m also ready to go somewhere. Somewhere other than my living room. Somewhere where shoes and pants with zippers are required. Somewhere warm.
“Let’s move,” I told Chris.
“Somewhere warm,” I replied.
“Why don’t we just take a daytrip instead of, you know, selling our house…”
“That works, too.”
Yep. I’m ready for something drastic. I’m ready for shorts and t-shirts and ponytails and margaritas. I’ve been listening to Kenny Chesney again, and if he tells me one more time that no shirt and no shoes are no problem, I may be forced to just up and walk out on my job and find the nearest beach where whaling has not been outlawed and throw my huge self down on a towel.
But, until that happens, I’m going to have to find some other way to celebrate spring. Maybe I’ll do something crazy. Maybe I’ll change my screensaver…