Sorry this is late, but I didn’t sleep much last night.
It all started on Tuesday when my wife walked in the door and said this:
“Don’t worry. The baby’s still moving.”
For those of you who don’t spend your life refreshing Weather.com, it’s been hot in Los Angeles lately. Monday we hit 113 degrees — the highest temperature recorded since they started keeping tabs in 1877. Tuesday was a brisk 103.
That’s the kind of weather you want to stay out of, right? Well, for some reason, my wife decided to drive the Volvo to work. I haven’t pinned her down on why exactly she did this, but I suspect it’s because the Volvo now has a super cute baby seat and a super cute backseat mirror, and it’s super duper cute to glance over your shoulder and see where your real life baby is about to be. Normally, this sort of lure wouldn’t be a problem . . . except for the small fact that the Volvo is not technically allowed on California roadways and, oh, by the way, IT DOESN’T HAVE ANY AIR CONDITIONING.
So you can see why Tuesday’s drive home may not have been the most pleasant for her.
Unfortunately, after hearing my wife’s heart-stopping words, I retaliated by telling her about Sally Menke, the woman who edited all of Quentin Tarantino’s films, including Pulp Fiction, and Kill Bill, and Resevoir Dogs, who went hiking Monday in the Hollywood Hills, passed out from heat exhaustion, rolled down a ravine, and died. They found her body six hours later, her loyal dog still sitting by her side.
All last night, I kept feeling my wife twist and turn in bed. Enough that it was basically impossible to sleep.
Finally I said, “Sweetie, are you okay?”
After a moment I heard, “I keep thinking about that lady you told me about. I keep seeing a picture of her dog sitting there licking her face as she baked to death in the sun.”
And there in lies the trouble with retaliation. You make your point, but that blow you thought was glancing always seems to leave a mark.
“I’m sorry I told you that story,” I said. “But is the baby still moving?”
“Yeah,” my wife said, putting her hand on her belly.
“Then we’ll be all right.”
Daddy's My Mommy 