i have to admit, i've been dragging my feet extra slothfully these last few weeks in dreaded anticipation for fall/autumn/whatever you call it in the region you live in. not that i don't love fall - i really really do, but i hate that it means winter is coming next. bleck.
BUT, all that moping about came to a close this past weekend with a little something called, the-greatest-pumpkin-patch-that-isn't-much-of-a-pumpkin-patch-at-all-but-rather-a-carnival-with-rides-and-a-petting-zoo-and-bounce-castles-and-all-sorts-of-wacky-stuff-i've-never-associated-with-pumpkin-patches-before.
i knew what we were getting into to some degree. there was a big part of me that needed that kind of over-stimulation to get me in the autumn spirit. especially after our pumpkin patch upset last year. see, when i hear "pumpkin patch," i can't help but think of hay rides and apple cider. oh yeah, and pumpkins... but not JUST pumpkins - that's way too bonnet and butter churner for my overly-commercialized brain. so you can imagine the sad look on my face when the pumpkin patch we rolled up to last year looked a little something like this
(it didn't really look like this because we don't live in the mojove desert, but in my mind it did)
so, this year i purposefully overcompensated just for kicks and giggles. and, maybe it's just the cotton candy talking (yes, at a pumpkin patch), but it was a lot of fun!
the bug and her hubs joined us for the festivities, and between our two pregger bellies, we must have heard something to the effect of "looks like you're trying to steal a pumpkin under your shirt there" at least 468 times. maybe more.
the highlight of the day was definitely the train ride though. imagine a fantastically old metal train with perfect kid-sized "cars" that look like giant empty soup cans turned on their sides with a hole cut in them for kids to poke their little heads out of. then imagine that soup-can train inching along through the scattered pumpkins so everyone in the whole place can see it.
(this is the size you should be to fit in one of these cars)
and then imagine two grown (and pregnant) women squeezing themselves into those little soup-can cars. i mean, we couldn't not - quincy wanted to go for a ride and it was an otherwise empty train, aka an opportunity! we asked if adults were allowed to ride, to which the kid driving the rig replied that if we could get into the car, we could ride. so ride it we did
it was sheer bliss. feeling the wind in our faces, the sun on our backs. like heaven really. but then it stopped. and we had to get out. and we suddenly realized that the driver never mentioned anything about being able to get out of the soup-can cars. (the boy just informed me that he actually did mention that, but we obviously only hear what we want to hear and were already scrambling into the cars without even hearing that part of things)
here are three things to keep in mind if you're ever considering going for this train ride.
1. soup can cars are a tight fit. and they're made of metal and can't be shifted around in any way
2. it's probably better to be smaller than the sum area of the car in order to ride it. and to not be pregnant
3. if you decide to get in one anyway, remember not to wear slippery maternity jeans
it took me a good several minutes to wiggle my way out of that thing, which involved twisting and turning in ways that i never thought would be associated with a simple train ride. of course, in my own agony, i completely failed to remember how bug's legs are significantly longer than mine and her belly's a couple of months ahead of mine.
i escaped only to find her completely wedged into her soup can, not able to move one way or the other.
to add to the situation, during our ride, we emoted so much joy that several little kids ran up wanting the next ride. so the whole train quickly filled with eager children. except one poor little kid who couldn't find an open seat...because bug was stuck on the train.
before long, an entire crowd had gathered around to see this 9-month pregnant woman jammed into a soup can. she should have gotten paid, she was one of the carnival's main attractions. she kept trying to wiggle out. and kept failing. and then she'd try with the help of the boy and her hubs, each hoisting one side up in vain. still no movement.
like a true soldier, she hollered bravely at the driver, "just start driving these poor kids around. i'll figure something out!" but, the mom of the boy without a seat would have none of that. her son needed that soup can car emptied for him asap.
i was a terrible sister. i stood right next to her car and laughed my head off. i couldn't help it.
i laughed when the guy sitting behind us said, "welp, looks like you bought yourselves a new train!" i laughed when the moms of all the kids waiting for the ride to start started to tap their feet and get upset. i laughed when i pictured bug needing to be sawed out of that thing. i laughed when the driver just grinned - knowing that was bound to be the end result and letting it happen anyway because it would be the highlight of his day. heck, i'm even laughing out loud right now as i'm typing this
by some autumn miracle, the bug finally freed herself from the terrible grasp of the soup can car, only to practically lose her stretchy maternity pants in the process. and her supportive husband's only comment was, "don't worry, sweetie. i think i'm the only one you mooned." it was fantastic.
her only battle wounds (other than a battered ego) were some fantastic bruises on her knees. at her midwife's appointment today, they saw the bruises and got really worried about her iron levels and she only nodded and looked at the floor. she didn't have the guts to tell them that even the most iron-rich person in the world couldn't get out of that predicament without purpling up a little bit.
best. day. ever.
