Sleep tight, wet towels

I just hung a load of wet wash on the line. At night. Is there anything wrong with that? Bats flitted through the dark sky above me. I wondered whether it would rain while we slept, and whether the rain would be bad for the clothes. I doubted it. (Not that that it would rain—it might. But my laundry will fare just fine, I’m sure.)

It’s been hot here. And humid. So hot and humid that most days, when I’m not at work or holed up in my bedroom with our only source of cool air in the house, I’m basting in my own sweat. It’s hard to stay hydrated under these circumstances, but I am motivated. As I might have mentioned in a previous post, I was psyched out by a day-long bout with Braxton Hicks contractions. Those are the kind that don’t lead to labor. I was only 35 weeks then—baby semi-safe for birthing, but better left baking. Not having experienced any such pre-term symptoms in past pregnancies, I felt suspicious of the pains that visited me 3-4 times each hour from Sunday ’til Monday evening. “Dehydration,” deemed my midwife. I think she was right. So now I am drinking, drinking, drinking. Mostly ice water. (And peeing, peeing, peeing…3-4 times each hour.)

In other weather-related news, we had a furnace installed in this tropical spell. Will’s idea. His Facebook “About Me” declaration comes to mind: “I’m happy being a bit of an oddball.” I mean, really! Who buys a major household heating device when it’s 90+ Fahrenheit outside…and inside?! My dear husband. But I think it’s probably a paternal protective instinct. We have this new baby coming. Our 25-year-old furnace was giving us trouble at the end of last winter. And why not take care of these things well before they’re needed, right? (WELL before!) Plus, we had some help. A hearty “Thanks!” to our generous benefactor, who may or may not ever see this post. I’ll be sure to thank the person in-person.

That’s all for tonight. (I hope my laundry’s all right.)