So Tuesday I went swimming with some friends at one of their parent's homes. The house is really nice and we had a great time, then we decided to go and get some dinner and come back for an evening swim.
When I got there I was wearing my wedding band and engagement ring. I took them off and put them in the bag I had my change of clothes in because I didn't want to risk losing the rings. Admittedly, I wasn't very careful with putting them in, but I remember them going in the bag.
So I get home that night, exhausted because I've been swimming and hanging out for about seven hours at this point. I realize I can't find my rings and I do my best to look through my bag, even clearing it out, but can't find them. At this point I'm struggling to stand so we give up for the night and go to sleep because I told Patrick I felt certain they have to either be in the bag or in front of the pool house. Either way, they should only be either at our apartment or at the house we swam at. We did go out to eat, but at that point I put the bag in my car and rode with a friend, so the rings shouldn't have left that area.
Of course, that night I had a stomach ache from the onion rings I ate plus all the activity, so sleep was not restful for me.
I message my friend the next morning (yesterday), tell her if she thinks it'll be alright that we're going to go back to the house and check out around the pool and just make sure I didn't drop them out there. She responds later with that it should be fine and if we need to get in the pool house then it shouldn't be a problem, the alarm shouldn't be on as far as she knew.
We tried to call her while we were on our way there just to let her know we were headed that way, I really just kinda wanted to be sure I could get in touch with her if need-be.
Well, I couldn't get her, but we carried on with checking around the table outside the pool house and were looking desperately for it out there when we accepted that it wasn't out there. I looked at Patrick and said "Well, it may be in the pool house and she said it would be fine..."
As soon as I open the door the alarm goes off. I quickly close it, thinking maybe it'll shut off (I don't deal with alarms so I'm in hopeful mode at this point), but it keeps going. I look at Patrick and tell him to run (because in my head I'm thinking how while we're not doing anything wrong, her dad has no idea we're there and what we're there for (to find my rings I lost) and I currently can't get a hold of his daughter for her to let him know. I also don't foresee the police being super understanding and Patrick has to get to work in a few hours and, well, I'm pregnant and didn't exactly love the idea of possibly being detained by the police after telling them the truth about why we're there all because I want to find my wedding rings).
We run back to our car, with me in the lead despite being fat (and while I used to be in shape and fat, I am currently not as fit as I once was), starting to get a cold and pregnant and Patrick being the skinny one with longer legs and no baby in him to slow him down. I'm snapping at Patrick to go as he's trying to put on his seat belt (discussing it later he says how in situations like that he tries to play it cool and I tell him "Patrick, people that don't know you recognize you. You're easily recognizable with your bright hair!" When discussing it with a friend later, I realized how much we stand out as a couple. Me being fat and pregnant and him skinny and with bright, noticeable hair... We're just not your typical looking couple, we stand out). We get out of there and as soon as I've caught my breath I try to call my friend again, see if I can't get her so she can let her dad know it was us and it was an accident and we're really sorry, I just wanted my rings. I can't get her so I left a voice mail, we got home and I basically curled up in bed for a few hours trying to get over all the physical exertion I just went through.
So a few hours later I realize Lupe still hasn't gotten to go potty, I'm still worn out but I'm trying to get myself to at least walk thirty minutes a day so I leash her up and we start to walk up to her potty area she likes further up in the apartment complex. As soon as we get there I hear frantic chirping, it's right by the fitness center of the complex so it's hard to hear over the air conditioner, but with Dupe's help I spot a fledgling mockingbird.
Now, every time I've had the privilege of coming in contact with a baby bird, it's been because my mom's indoor-outdoor cats get a hold of one and I'm left to nurse it and take care of it until I can get it to the local wild bird rescue to see if they can't save it.. I have my wild (feral) cats I feed at the other end of the complex so I worry that maybe they, or another cat, could wind up finding this sweet little baby who I'm not sure if he's hurt or not. Lupe is a total terrier, though, and I'm struggling to keep her away while I figure out how to get the baby. In the past, I'd pick the bird up without a thought (it's a myth that a momma bird will abandon it's baby if it smells like a human)--but I'm pregnant, and apparently that toxoplasmosis (no idea if that's right or how to spell it, Patrick and I cal l it the "taco disease") disease that they tell you to avoid cleaning the litter box for or eating unheated lunch meat because of is found in cats that eat wild birds... so I pretty much just assumed that if I hold a wild bird I could possibly get the disease. I decide to run back to the apartment, which was like murder. I wasn't wearing a bra and I'm a big girl with a relatively large chest and... it was not pleasant. When not pregnant, maybe I could manage, but pregnant it was hell. I find a bag, dump out the contents and run/walk/wheeze back to where I found the bird. I coax it with a pine cone into the bag and take it home while I decide what to do with it (take it to a wildlife rescue, etc). I call the rescue I usually take them to and leave a message for them describing the bird and saying how I don't think he's hurt and I'm not sure if I should just put him back. Then, I remember my upstairs neighbor told me she had worked at that same rescue, so I tell Patrick to hurry home from work so he can go upstairs with me to ask her opinion. When he gets there, we go and she tells us he looks fine and he's old enough we can just put him back. We walk back up the hill, me feeling like I'm about to die, and Patrick does the honors of replacing him under the bush.
I get back to the apartment and am exhausted at this point. I've pushed myself too hard in the past couple days. I'm worn out and I feel the cold getting worse. I go to bed and hope it will go away, only to wake up in the morning unable to breathe. It's gotten worse as the day has gone on, my throat is sore from breathing through my mouth instead of my nose and I'm still tired. Then, of course, figure I should be semi-useful and instead of making poor Patrick bath Lupe I think I can manage it... and that's when my last post about my poop saga begins.
I am a sick, sad little pregnant lady right now.
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