I recently went to my 6 month pregnancy appointment, and asked the doctor a few questions. 1. Can I continue running? 2. Is it okay to spray weed killer on my grass? I’ve been doing both.
He told me to wrap up my jogging by the next month. I nodded expectantly. He also recommended against weed spraying, which is pretty nasty stuff. I knew this, but I passionately hate weeds in my lawn. I gave a resigned shrug, and left the office, slightly dejected.
Yesterday was wonderfully sunny. We were outside all day, doing yard work. At one point, I asked Zach to spray the weeds. He declined. My poor grass. He said he really didn’t want to go around the lawn looking for weeds. My poor, poor grass.
While today’s forecast was rain, it was surprisingly sunny. I laced up my running shoes and went for a 2 mile jog. I love the outdoors, which is why I am so sad to have those activities restricted.
The doctor said to keep my heart rate below 120 bpm, drink lots of water, etc. I’m not sure what that means, because I’m pretty sure my heart rate goes above 120 just walking up the stairs, at this point in my pregnancy.
I decided that meant that I should jog super slowly. I left my watch at home because I didn’t want a watch tan line. Who knows what my heart rate was. It was bloody hot out, but I felt great. Lots of deep breathing to get O2 to the kid.
At the end of my jog, I found Zach. “Can you pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease spray the weeds for me?”
He laughed. “Does it really mean that much to you?”
He paused from ironing his clothes. “Tell you what. Go get some short sticks…”
“Sticks? What? You had better be for real. I’m serious.” I glared at him.
He continued, “…some of those bamboo chopsticks. Stick them in the yard where you want me to spray and I’ll spray.”
I reluctantly agreed. “Okay. So I’ll stick a bunch of chopsticks in our lawn, and mix up a gallon of weed killer, and then come get you.”
“No, no, no. You’re not supposed to get near that stuff. I’ll mix it up.”
I looked at him suspiciously. “I want you to spray weed killer. Not weed and grass killer. I’ll be really mad if you use the weed and grass killer on our lawn.”
He smiled, “Just put the bottle next to the sprayer.”
“It’s 2.5 ounces to a gallon. Measure it right.”
Humoring me, he replied, “Tell you want. You can come down and hold my hand and show me every step.”
I just looked at him. “I’m going to put chopsticks in the lawn now.”
I went down to our kitchen, grabbed a huge handful of chopsticks, and started stabbing our lawn. I ran out of our wooden chopsticks, so I headed back into the house for our other ones.
As I continued poking more chopsticks into the lawn, I reflected that the neighbors probably thought I was going crazy. I didn’t care. I’ll do anything to stay outside.
I ran out of chopsticks again. Sighing, I turned from the great outdoors, and headed back in for more.
It’s going to be a long summer.