Monday, June 6th, 2011
I’m obsessed with your weather forecasts. It began when I was 9 months pregnant. I wanted to see if a snowstorm was coming so I could stress about how we’d get to the hospital. No major storms were forecast for my due date. But then, labor never happened. November 17th came and went. My husband and I did everything except castor oil. We rented a car and drove over potholes in the Bronx. I sprinted up the steps in Prospect Park. I even went as far as doing something with evening primrose oil that would be inappropriate and unprofessional to tell you about. But women know.
Then I read somewhere that when the barometric pressure drops, it can induce labor. So I began watching your weather charts, taking notes and googling numbers. On November 30, we had rain and the barometric pressure was going down. But apparently it didn’t drop enough, and neither did my baby, because on December 2nd, she came out via C-section.
Then I took a break from you. It didn’t matter what the forecast was because it was a horrible winter and I was a paranoid new mom who refused to leave the house for fear of germs (and/or that a single snowflake would harm my baby).
Now Fia is a little older so I’m back with you. Everything you say between 5:30-6 pm is relevant and extremely important to me because:
A) It’s the final stretch before hubby takes over and gets Fi bathed and ready for bed. That means after you, I’m that much closer to my (first) glass of wine.
B) She likes your weather maps more than Sesame Street. Thank God she’s a captive audience because by then, my bag of tricks is empty. You should know your voice is music to my ears, as I simply cannot listen to the Busy Box play Twinkle Twinkle anymore.
C) Your forecast determines what I do tomorrow. And the next day. Will I stay inside like a prisoner, desperately trying to keep her and Wayne Sanchez (our transsexual cat…. long story) separated? Or, will I trudge through snow, rain, hail, maybe an occasional tornado to meet up with my mom friends? You are the reason I wake up panicked or pumped.
I just thought you’d want to know all this and that you’ve made me much closer to my in-laws who start asking about the weather 11 days before they visit. I now relate to both babies and 77 year olds.
Your loyal follower,
Jill CordesAdd a Comment