what's appropriate
Yesterday, I realized how scientifically challenged I am; I learned that falling rain on existing snow at minus one degree celcius does not produce slush, but rather, ice upon sidewalks and roads. I learned this the hard way, when I embarked upon awhat I believed would be a quick trip out to the grocery store. Very gingerly, not even really knowing where it was safe to step, I got, at most, fifteen metres from the doors of my apartment building, before I stood, almost wimpering pathetically in the parking lot, wondering how in the world I was going to make it to the store before it closed in two-and-a-half hours. So I turned back, with the intention of changing my shoes but not really knowing if that would make much of, if any, difference at all.
What ensued, upon my return home, was a quick lesson in meteorological science, with Lucas incredulously telling me that, of course rain and snow at minus one degree would result ice and not slush, because you'd get slush only if it were sunny (and it wasn't) and if there was high pedestrian traffic, of which there was none either, because no one in their right mind was leaving their homes (except me).
And surrounding this very instructive science lesson was a disagreement as to what's appropriate for a pregnant girl almost a week past her due date to actually partake in. Lucas thinks I should be sitting at home and relaxing, and having him do things for me. This, I think, is a tad ridiculous, since with his swollen, purple foot, and his resultant hobbling ways, he's not in much of a state to do a lot, such as going to the grocery store. [This discussion was coming the day after I went out for a few hours to check out the last of Winterlude -- people grinning cheesily in front of ice sculptures while getting their picture taken, and throngs of weekend skaters on the Rideau Canal. I very briefly thought about going to Parliament Hill's open house, but decided that would've been a bit much. Lucas doesn't think that I should've gone at all, because I'm heavily pregnant] Conversely, I think that because I feel perfectly fine and capable, I not only don't need him to do stuff for me, but I can also do things like walk around the city. I'm also a believer not letting something like pregnancy or kids completely hold me back from engaging in the things I want to do. I do understand, though, that the degree to which I'd normally do things should and will be scaled back a little. The fact is that I'm already not doing as much as I normally would intend to; I used to venture out around downtown for hours on end but I haven't done that in months. By my standards, I've already toned down on my activity. Not to mention, I wouldn't do any of the things I'm doing, if I didn't feel like I could. This disagreement was sparked by the fact that I'd actually gone out in icy conditions, just a completely absurd thing for a nine-month-pregnant girl to do. In my defense, my scientifically-challenged mind didn't think it had been icy, but rather, slushy. Given my fear walking upon ice, if I'd even remotely thought that it would be icy, I wouldn't have gone out to begin with. And I thought that it would merely be a simple trip to the grocery store, a trip that would better be accomplished by me, rather than the guy with the bum foot.
I suppose I just don't think that I should be exploiting the pregnancy and expect to have others do things for me, especially when I feel I'm capable of doing them myself (I do make concessions though, such as having a stranger reach a box of cereal on a high shelf, when the non-pregnant me would normally have climbed the shelves to get it on my own). And I think Lucas will be doing tons for me after Raspberry's born and I'll be completely zombified (then again, I'm sure he'll be too). But anyway, I couldn't really get him to see it from my point-of-view, so I conceded. I'm only going to be pregnant for a maximum of a week more, so for his peace of mind, I'm letting him do some things for me, even though I think I can do them on my own.