So I was, shall we say, a tad bit 'misinformed'. What my husband would deem totally clueless.
The past two weeks here in Andalucia have proven to me that 1) Earth Science was indeed a relevant course in high school and 2) good God, I miss the jet stream. Turns out that Africa is the temperamental bitch responsible for my suffering. Well, Africa's Azores High and my husband's penis. Did I mention that I'm now 7 months pregnant? Yeah, well surprise, new readers and those who were searching for cock vectors and cow testicles (amazing what searches have brought people to my blog) and ended up on this site. This girl's with child.
On a whim I did my own scientific research, thank you Mr. Google. And yes, it turns out that pregnant women can expect to experience an increase of up to almost two degrees in overall body temperature throughout the course of their pregnancy. Not a big deal? Well if you're sitting pretty at 98.6, you've now got a low grade fever. I'm oversimplifying, yes, but trying to make a point: Pregnancy is HOT and I'm not talking 'sexy' hot.
So just how hot is hot?
On Monday we were at 40 degrees centigrade.
By Thursday the mercury had crawled past 42 degrees centigrade.
Yesterday the public swimming pool began to bubble as we saw 44 degrees centigrade come and go.
And today it's predicted to get hotter. Is hotter even possible?
I'm still having trouble with the math involved in temperature conversions from centigrade to fahrenheit but I know one thing: anything above 35 degrees centigrade and it means sweaty boobs for Yours Truly. For your benefit, I spent 30 minutes of my life doing the math involved to make sense of these temps. Yes, it took me the whole thirty minutes because I really am that bad at math. Anyway, here's the breakdown:
This is what 7 months looks like. And before
you even ask, it's just ONE lil' pickle in this jar.
Thursday was over 108.
Yesterday topped 111.
And don't foget - I get a handicap of +2 degrees for the pregnancy.
You seein' the picture, amigos? No, not all of it. I forgot to mention that the house we're renting is without central AC. My handicap just went up tenfold. Before you start taking up donations to save me, take some comfort in the room air conditioner that's pumping away in the house's main room. It's not much, but better than nothing. And I guess the upside to this sweaty nightmare is that it's finally prompted us to move forward with the house hunt. Alas, Lucifer's red hot African poker just may be my salvation afterall.
That is, if I don't melt first.