I don't like being rescued. I pride myself in my sheer independence and mental strength. I just don't ask people for help, ever. I'll go through an airport pregnant and carry my own bags just to prove to myself I can. I'll carry in a weeks worth of groceries laced up one arm with the baby in her seat on the other arm all the while having the neighbors looking on. If I was to pinpoint the root of this personality trait I think it came from being raised in a house full of women. The male parental figure lived 1 1/2 hours away so even if I did call him for help, by the time he would get there it just made sense to always just do it my own darn self. I never had that luxury, you know?
So, you can only imagine the mental pain I experienced last Wednesday having to call D home after my unfortunate back episode. But throwing out my back wasn't enough to keep me in NY for the weekend. I had big plans and my back be dammed, I was driving to PA to pick up my sister to head down to my Mom's for a all girls weekend. And of all weekends, this was the one that I needed to be busy as it was the one year anniversary of my miscarriage. I got to PA in one piece and Jenn and the babe and I packed into her car all set to go when only 20 minutes into the trip, her car calls it quits. Now, you would think that by this point I would give in and say it wasn't meant to be, but I didn't. I wanted to go home and see my mom. I wanted to go shopping and attend this huge consignment sale that I was not only going to shop at but also sell at to help feed my addictions. We turned around, unloaded her mini-van and squeezed everything (including the babe, we didn't forgot her) into my Civic and off we went. The only catch was that I had to drive, again, after driving 3 1/2 hours already because my dear, sweet, ever loving sister can't drive stick, and that was okay because I love her and she buys Gymboree for my girl.
We got to VA, safe and sound. Had a great weekend. It was so incredibly fun that I didn't even blink on Saturday or even think of the emotional torture I was experiencing just a year earlier. But all of that would end that evening, as we made our last stop I felt just a tad chilly. Jenn wasn't cold, but I was shaking like I was standing in the middle of a blizzard. No big deal I thought, I had just pumped 8oz and figured I might had screwed up my system because I had waited so long. But after shaking and shivering for over an hour, I realized something bigger was going on. And I was right as the thermometer flashed 103.5 alerting me that yes, indeed I could actually shop till I dropped (ha, get it?!?). Anyway, to make a sad, long story short, Jenn had to be back to PA on Sunday no later than 2:30 because apparently pilots can't just call in late. There was no way I could drive. None at all. You know what I had to do, again? Less than a week apart? You guessed it, I had to call D to once again rescue me. He flew first thing Sunday morning to Baltimore where I picked him up and let me say? I've never felt more relieved to see my husband before.
It really felt good to be rescued, regardless of how hard it is to ask.
Oh, the high temp? We'll discuss that fun later!