"Hi, sweetheart. I know that you have the stomach flu, but Spence and I are stranded in Longfellow Park. I know it is ridiculous...I mean we are just two blocks away, but can you pick us up?"
That was the first message in a string of messages left on Saturday. After a mama-son bagel extravaganza, we decided to take advantage of the balmy 38 degree weather and take a stroll on over to the park. The first half a block went off without a hitch. We were holding hands and avoiding the mushy-mushy parts.
Then we turned the corner. And the sidewalks had turned into sheets of ice. Spence fell on his bottom and scooted a bit on the ice. I smiled and tried to make it a game. A smarter mother might have taken note of the conditions, remembered she was 9 months pregnant, and turned around. Not me. We persevered.
"Dave, you need to wake up and come get us. I am in a lot of pain here. Things are not going well." Second message.
A half of a block later, Spence was demanding to be carried. I picked him up and started to maneuver on the icy sidewalks. "Park, park, park," Spence chanted. My right foot slid precariously, but we---really "I"--carried (him) on. My back started to spasm and I had an uncomfortable feeling in my belly, but I chose my favorite coping strategy. Denial.
"I know that your phone can't possibly be on silent. I mean, I am in striking distance of delivery..." Message 3.
We made it to the park. Spence delightfully walked on the swinging suspension bridge and climbed up to the slide and slid all the way down. He radiated with happiness. My mind started to wonder if these were Braxton-Hicks contractions or the real deal.
"Spence, should we walk back home and find papa? We can walk through the mushy-mushy!" His brow furrowed. He shook his head. He punctuated it with a "No!" to make sure he was clearly being heard. We headed over to the swings.
Message 4 really shouldn't be archived. There were a lot of words that started with "f" and "a."
My back threatened to paralyze the lower half of my body. I picked Spence up and told him that we had to go find papa. Spence started to kick and scream. Tears rolled down his rosy cheeks. "No...no...no...no!" He kicked all the way home. He ripped the button off my last pair of maternity pants that still feel comfortable.
We made it home and woke up my sleeping husband. I crawled into bed and tried to disown the lower half of my body. The contractions and vomiting came later. Lasted all night.
Needless to say, Dave has made sure his phone is permanently on loud and vibrate and even dances an Irish jig.