It’s 90 degrees…inside.

Two words: heat index (with three digits).

Sitting on the couch makes me sweat. Taking a shower makes me sweat. Breathing makes me sweat.

Sweat…it’s what’s on my armpits, the back of my legs, along my hairline, and in places I won’t list here because you’re all nice people and you don’t need to know.

The dog doesn’t want out. That’s strange, because it’s not raining. But I don’t blame him, all the same.

The toddler doesn’t want out. This is even more strange than the phenomenon of the dog not wanting out.

The sheep are panting. They don’t want out either.

The clothes hanging on the line can’t dry because of the humidity index (which seems to go unmeasured by those non-pregnant weathermen, but which I assure you is so high it might as well rain and help us out already!).

Did I mention that it’s 90 degrees INSIDE?

The toddler doesn’t want to eat. Neither does her mother. Unless it’s ice cream or popsicles. (I would blame the allowance of such a diet on a certain unborn baby, but…doesn’t that just seem wrong somehow?)

No, I don’t live in the South. And now I don’t want to. (Except maybe in the dead of winter.)

No, my water didn’t break. That’s just sweat.

I’ve been at my mother-in-law’s house, where there’s air conditioning, for the last five evenings. I’m sure she’s sick of me, but I’m not sick of her A/C, and I’ve let her know it. (Is this just the pregnancy acting? Well, maybe.)

85 sounds like cooling off.

There’s a smell to the house. I think it’s me and all that sweat.

My husband, knowing a desperate pregnant wife when he sees one, takes precious study time to install the bedroom window air conditioner. I then give the go-ahead to turn it down to 65. (He can’t believe his good fortune! And I would have never done this if it wasn’t officially Dog Days weather out there!) But I still go over to my mother-in-law’s because I can’t bear to be in just this one little room of my house.

County fair’s over. State fair’s over. Kids aren’t back in school. And it’s hot.

Upon stepping out of the pool, I’m sweating. By the time I’m home, it’s like I never went swimming.

I’m not going back in, and you can’t make me. It’s NINETY DEGREES in there!