Day two of crazed out-of-control nesting.
I’m getting so much done it’s almost worth being in the third trimester and needing to stop every half hour to put an ice pack on my hip.
Mike the Wonder Masseur (not ‘masseuse’ as I said yesterday, wrong gender, sorry Mike) is getting a fair bit of credit for this, because without the constant pain I’m far more able to tackle things. Also I think he spiked the water cooler with speed.
Today I went to buy the new flooring for the baby’s room, because my dear Hubs pointed out that we shouldn’t rip up the carpet only to discover that the flooring we want isn’t in stock, or something. So I hied me off to the Home Depot to buy four boxes of Allure Resilient Flooring in hickory (had to be hickory, we’ve got two boxes left over from when we did the boys’ room with the same stuff).
I found the correct aisle no problem. I found the product no problem. I even found four boxes in the right colour without any undue hardship.
What I couldn’t find was someone in a hideous orange apron to lift the goddamn things into my shopping cart.
Each box weighs 35 lbs. Or about the same as Ron. Except that Ron helps when you lift him, whereas plank flooring just lies there and is heavy. Plus these boxes were stacked on the floor, so it was the worst kind of lift. And they are long, and awkward, and I’m not really supposed to be lifting anything right now.
But there was no other way! So I lifted them, one by one, and rammed them into the cart.
Sidebar – if you were at Home Depot, and saw an obviously very pregnant woman struggling to lift heavy boxes into her cart, would you stop and offer to help? Yeah, me too. Not the six people who walked past me, though.
Anyway, got my purchases to the front of the store (did you know a cart with 140 lbs in it is heavy? Yeah. And hard to steer? Yeah, that too).
Sidebar – if you were wandering alone through Home Depot carrying, let’s say, one paintbrush, and you saw an obviously very pregnant woman walking towards you pushing a 140 lb. cart roughly the size and maneuverability of a dead hippo, would you step graciously out of the way? Yeah, me too. Not everyone else on earth, though.
Rang my purchases through, and the very nice lady at the counter insisted that I let her call someone to help me get the cart to my van & then unload it. Since I was exhausted from the slalom race of doom through the store, I was more than happy to comply.
She paged Gavin.
Oh, Gavin. Gavin was maybe 20. Gavin was sporting a Movember moustache LIKE A BOSS which tricked me into thinking he had lots of testosterone to spare. He looked a bit spindly and weedy to me, but I figured since he moves heavy objects for a living he was probably just crawling with ropy muscles.
He could barely keep up with my waddling pace out of the store. When the time came to lift the first box into the van, he grunted audibly, then muttered, heaved a second time, dropped it back, then glared at me and said in a very accusing tone:
“This thing is HEAVY!”
Well, duh, disappointing Gavin. Not ropy muscles, apparently. Just weedy. I said “well yes, it is heavy. I got them into the cart myself (hint hint, you pitiful little video game jockey) but I really shouldn’t be lifting anything right now.”
He struggled and fought and complained and moaned while he wrestled the boxes into the back of the van. I could have helped, but I was damned if I was going to. I mean, were I not pregnant, 35 lbs would be nothing. And I’m an out-of-shape overweight woman who is built like a T-rex (big head, solid thighs, tiny short arms). Surely this young buck could lift four fucking boxes without whining?
His parting comment? “You aren’t going to install this stuff too, are you?” with a horrified look on his face; an oh-my-god-this-psycho-woman-will-destroy-us-all kind of look. I laughed about it the whole way home.
And just for that, I would like to install the floor myself. And take a picture to Home Depot to show young Mr. Gavin.
Home Depot. You can do it, we can help. (Unless, of course, helping you is going to be all hard, or something).