My sister is seven months pregnant, and living in a cabin in the woods. She has a pretty high tolerance for rusticity, which is how she came to be living in a cabin in the woods. But now as the third trimester nesting instinct is kicking in, things are starting to get a little hairy. Or, more accurately, buggy.
Having houseguests is its own problem, even without the added stress of pregnancy. And while two rambunctious kids (and their 100% perfect-guest-of-a-mother) are admittedly adding a certain amount of extra hassle to her life, the real problem is the houseguests with wings. Yes, up here in northern Vermont, there seem to be a lot of flies. This invasion of irritating, not to mention germy, insects is not so compatible with a pregnant woman’s nesting instinct. My poor, put-upon, pregnant sister has a fly swatter permanently affixed to her hand. Any time not spent swatting is spent reminding people to shut the screen door. Or complaining about the flies that got in when someone didn’t shut the screen door. Sometimes she does all three of these at once.
Not that I blame her, really….
There are three (four?) flies buzzing around my head as I type. And I’m ten feet away from where she sleeps, no doubt with flies interrupting her already-interrupted dreams. Part of me wonders if it isn’t a little crazy to be camping out in the woods when you’re pregnant. But the other part is more than a little jealous of her high tolerance for discomfort. I spent my pregnancies in the city, flush with creature comforts and easy access to everything. I didn’t have bugs, but I still had bugaboos— and I don’t mean the stroller kind. I’d rail on the broken elevator, the lame A/C, the stinky spots on the street. If she weren’t bugged by bugs, would it just be something else? It seems like pregnancy irritability always finds a target, moving or otherwise. What’s been driving you particularly insane lately?