I have a spooky little story for you, just in time for Halloween! Here's what went down, as far as I remember:
This morning, I woke up early to ride the bike before I had to get ready for work. Colt leaves around six, so I was alone. I walked into the living room to pull up Nanny911 on Netflix (because nothing says "I'm preparing for parenthood!" like binge-watching shows about families struggling with outrageous behavioral issues. So instructional!). It was still dark outside, so I shut the blinds on our sliding glass door so that when I turned on the lights, people wouldn't be able to stare at the sweaty pregnant lady pedaling away in her at-home workout attire (which isn't exactly long and loose-fitting these days, if you know what I mean. It isn't neighborly to subject the innocent to such a spectacle that early in the morning).
After I finished, I put the bike back in the spare room and proceeded to hit the shower. When I came back out into the kitchen, I looked across the living room and noticed that the blinds were wide open.
"I didn't open the blinds..." I thought to myself.
Even now, I have zero recollection of pulling the shades back.
A prickle of fear shivered up my spine. I stared around our tiny apartment, then turned to head back to our room to finish getting ready. However, as I passed the spare room (I don't think I can call it "baby's room" until his crib is in there), I noticed that the door was almost completely shut.
"Did I shut the door?"
No, Sam. NO YOU DID NOT!
The prickle of fear became more like a surge. I gently pushed the door back and peeked inside...and this is the creepiest part, you guys. When I stuck my head in there, it smelled like cig smoke. We have neighbors who smoke *even though they aren't supposed to,* but it was 7:30 a.m. and the spare room window faces a side yard; not an especially convenient place for someone to light up. Of course, after assessing the situation, I knew immediately that a murderous smoker had scaled three balconies, picked the lock on our patio door, pushed back my blinds, and was now hiding in the baby's closet stinking up the bedroom, just waiting for me to find him so that he could proceed to do pretty much everything I've ever seen on Law and Order: SVU.
"What do I do?! This situation isn't 911 warranted, right? Do I call the police? Do I leave the apartment? But I have to be at work! And I'm in my bathrobe! And underneath that, I'm naked! Maybe he's just a friendly bum and if I offer to make him some breakfast, we'll be able to talk it out and he'll just leave..."
I was obviously in a completely rational state of mind. I don't know if you've heard, but pregnancy hormones cause women to behave in completely logical, sensible ways. Really hones your common sense, that pregnancy does.
You see everyone, at this point, I was about 92% convinced someone was in our house. If you ever find yourself in a similar situation, I recommend that you take everything that I did/did not do, and just do the opposite. Mmk? Use the following information as a cautionary tale; a "What Not To Do," if you will.
I decided the best course of action would be to pretend like I didn't know there was someone in the closet, and hope that maybe he would just keep hiding. So I walked to the kitchen and grabbed the kitchen scissors, put them in my pocket, and went back to my bathroom. After a few minutes, it occurred to me that maybe I should shut and lock the door. So I did.
I locked myself in a tiny bathroom with a feeble lock and no windows, with a pair of scissors to defend myself.
Keep in mind, friends, we have three guns. And ammo.
I don't even want to think about how long I'd last if I were chosen for the Hunger Games.
I texted Colt to tell him I was a little bit creeped out. He graciously asked if I would like him to come back home to check things out. It hadn't occurred to me to ask him to do so, but I promptly took him up on the offer. Yes, I made my sweet, patient, long-suffering husband come all the way back home to check the closet for bad guys. I felt bad. But I didn't ask him to, he volunteered!
Can you guess how this story ends?
Yeah, you're darn right there was no bad guy in the spare room. Or in any other closet, corner, or crevice of our apartment, for that matter. We checked. It's quite likely that I did, in fact, re-open the blinds and half-close the door behind me before I got in the shower this morning. Colt stayed with me while I finished getting ready, then we left together so I could give him a ride back to work (it was raining, and he was on his motorcycle. It was the least I could do).
Pregnancy brain is real guys. It makes you forget things, creating paranoia and mass chaos. Either that, or we have a little Halloween ghosty occupying our apartment. Both concepts are equally terrifying.
Happy Halloween!
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