It's impossible to be in Chicago right now and avoid these two topics: the weather and the Chicago Bears football. It's 5 degrees outside, which is actually fine with me because the sun is out and I am always hot. The lake looks like a sheet of ice and it's definitely nippy out, but I prefer that to the sweltering heat where my thighs rub together and chafe. Both my kids have birthdays during the extreme weather. I respect that in kids; it shows me they won't shy away from dealing with extremes in their lives. Like, for instance, their mother.
As for the Bears, I have been a staunch, non-sport fan for most of my life. Certain exceptions have crept in: the Tour de France and some golf viewing with Jeff. There were a few tennis matches where I got to watch one of the Williams sisters curse out a line judge and one where I saw a Kim Clijsters win a huge tournament 18 months after giving birth. Maybe those events occurred in the same match. Every now and again I would get into the Final Four during March Madness, mostly because my entire law firm seemed to shut down during those pivotal spring days. I got a kick out of the vuvuzelas during the World Cup, but none of this qualifies me as any kind of sports fan.
I generally have been very proud of that. I have been too cool for sports, too intellectual, too busy and too un-Southern. Doesn't take 11 years of therapy to see it might have been a reaction to my Texas upbringing. (Or maybe it did take 11 years of therapy to understand my particular flavor of rebellion: some people snort coke; some people refuse to enjoy sports.) But now, thanks to Facebook, I can see how much unadulterated joy sports bring to so many people. Turns out that lots of smart, well-read, highly evolved individuals really love football, basketball and a host of other sports. I honestly had no idea.
I want to be a part of that spirit. So, this weekend, the Bears are playing the Green Bay Packers in the playoffs, and I heard on the radio that this game may be even bigger than the superbowl. Something about a long-standing rivalry between the two teams, both of which seem hardcore to me to play in this ridiculous weather. (Wait, it's supposed to be a balmly 24 degrees on Sunday, so that's practically spring around here.) I have told Jeff I want to watch the game this weekend. I will need a few human interest tidbits to hook me in, which I will gather before kick off. I know there has to be a Brett Farve anecdote that will pique my interest.
So, this weekend, unless I am giving birth, I hope to ride the orange and navy wave of celebration at my city's team. I may learn players' names and numbers. I want to join in and not use it as an excuse to go to the grocery store or Costco because the lines are guaranteed to be short during the game.
Other than that, this weekend I think we are going to just be on Baby Watch and hang out with Sadie, whose life without a sibling is in its twilight.
I will note that I read on a baby message board that some OB/GYN told his patient that the following would help her dilate: Running around the neighborhod "like a horse" while "neighing." Apparently, the woman who posted this little nugget tried it and found herself dilated 3 cm at her next doctor's appointment.
Are you sh*tting me? Seriously. The most embarassing part of this post is that for about 5 minutes I considered trying this. There was something in that post about how the movement of the body ("like a horse") joins with the soundwaves from the "neighing" to induce labor. The fact that I thought that would work or that I wouldn't get picked up by the neighborhood watch is a signal to us all: I have totally stopped thinking rationally about anything dealing with labor.
So, if you hear a distant neighing, it ain't me. Oh, dear lord, I hope it ain't me.