Scarborough Fair While I Was 6 Months Pregnant

I thought I’d share my previous Renaissance Fair experience as I’m traveling to Kansas City today to enjoy the festivities.

Summer in Texas, May 2005. knights

It’s 100 degrees outside and it’s May in Texas. I’m 6 months pregnant and while I can see my feet, I can not actually reach down and touch them. This means I have snaggle toes and I’m randomly hairy and I can’t do anything about it.

Blake decided we need to go to something called the Scarborough Fair. This is a Renaissance Fair in the middle of a field outside of Dallas.

This pregnancy has been one big slap in the face regarding what I think I can do versus what I can actually do. I have been constantly overwhelmed by unexpected pregnancy limitations and I seem to have no foresight whatsoever when it comes to seeing approaching disaster. This being the case, I think the Scarborough fair in 100 degree heat sounds like a marvelous idea.

I sleep in, it takes me a while to get ready as I shower then rest. Find clothes then rest. Brush my teeth and hair and then rest. It ended up being noon by the time we rolled up to the fair. Oh my word, I’m stupid. Noon. In Texas. In the summer.

People are swarming all over this place and we are forced to park in the back 40. Blake pulls my massive girth out of the truck as waves of heat drift up from the cracked and dried earth. I hobble my way up to the front and already sweat is dripping, pooling, gathering in horrible places and my bathroom visit is already becoming and emergency.

We spend the next three hours doing the following: Sweat like a pig, restroom, drink something. Sweat like a pig, restroom, drink something. Sweat like a pig, restroom, drink something.

Finally we are in the back area where they are jousting. No actual bathroom is available, all they have back here are porta potties. Porta potties aren’t enjoyable at the best of times and they are a nightmare when you are 6 months pregnant. I can no longer balance myself properly so that I don’t touch when I’m using the porta potty. This was full fledge contact. Surface to surface. Plus I’m sweaty and it takes a while to get situated and I end up peeing on myself a bit anyway. I’m in the sweltering porta potty, I’ve peed on myself, and now I’m crying. I stand up and I realize that I’m too sweaty and pregnant to pull my pants up. They are stuck around my legs and I don’t have enough room to bend over to pull them up. It is more than 100 degrees in the porta potty. It was at least 120 degrees from horrible green house effect. Plus I’m pregnant so my one super power is super sonic smelling. I’m crying. I’m sweating. I have pee on me and I’m naked with my pants stuck around my ankles. My very swollen ankles.

I now have to make a choice. Die from heat exhaustion in the sweaty, stinky, sweltering porta potty in the middle of a Texas field or boldly step outside with my sweaty pants around my ankles. I don’t have on granny panties by the way. No sir mister. I am rocking a horrible overtaxed thong this 6 months of pregnancy.

So I step outside. Naked. Pants around my ankles. Massive behind waving in the wind for all to enjoy at the Scarborough Fair. I couldn’t even quickly get my pants up as I’m too sweaty and fat to bend down and pull them up quickly. Someone had to help me.

I don’t think you understand. Someone had to help me pull my pants up over my naked behind and over my pregnant belly in the middle of a field in a public event with thousands and thousands of people.

This may be the most embarrassing, yet hysterical, moment of my life so far. This kid better be amazing.

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