When Your House Floods At 8 Months Pregnant
It was Friday afternoon - heading into Memorial Day weekend and I walked into my garage - only to realize that the carpet was soaked through. We use our garage as a quasi-playroom, so there were toys, furniture, a vacuum, and art supplies, soaked and all over the floor.
I took a deep breath and opened the door, only have more water gush into the garage. I explored the house - first checking the kitchen. But, rounding the corner, I realized there was water absolutely everywhere. Looking around - almost the entire first story of our house had a layer of water - it looked like the Moaning Myrtle bathroom from Harry Potter… in the worst affected places, it was about an inch deep…. and growing.
After my quick assessment - the (wool) rugs were all completely soaked through, the dining area’s floor was reflecting our light fixtures, and the water was reaching the two sectionals that live at either end of the house - I snapped into action. The water was coming from our downstairs half-bath sink. I turned it off and took another deep breath.
My first call was a friend who we were supposed to meet at the park that afternoon for a playdate… I needed to let her know that we couldn’t come and when she asked why, I gave her the TLDR version of the story - with me choking up at the part where I realized that my husband was out of town, and I’d be trouble shooting this myself.
Because she’s a saint, she immediately responded, “We’re on our way.”
As they drove over, I covered the floor in every bath and beach towel, every rag and dishtowel I could scrounge up, which immediately absorbed a bunch of water, but also helped me visualize how rough this process was going to be… out of towels, I texted my neighborhood ladies group text, requesting more.
Within 20 minutes, our home had 10 people and 3 wet vacs.
My friend and her husband took charge. The husband’s of the women I do neighborhood mom’s nights with showed up, literally introducing themselves as _______’s husband as they walked in, before breaking apart my sectional, lifting rugs, and running back and forth from their homes to get water meters, fans, and towels.
For a little perspective - I am 8 months pregnant - and despite my inclination to do things myself or shrug off offers for help - there is legitimately no way I could have taken care of myself, my home, and my kids that afternoon. It was the greatest and most humbling reminder of how much we need other people in our lives, and connection to our communities.
That night, with the water off the surface of the floors, and the house temporarily livable, I finally got a hold of my husband (he didn’t have cell service). And I cried on the phone with him as I relayed the story… not because of stress or overwhelm. But, because it was a beautiful thing. To watch friends step in on your behalf. And I felt so taken care of.
A couple of years ago, I moved to this city. I remember telling my husband how weird it was to realize that no one who had known me for more than a few months lived within an hour of my house. I didn’t have friends or neighbors - and I felt it.
For the last few years, I’ve chipped away at building a community - connecting with people who I admire, getting phone numbers by “hitting on moms at the park” as my husband calls it.
Last summer, I realized I was really jealous of my friends who had connected neighborhoods - where people hung out together. So, much to the horror of my sweet, introverted husband, I rallied a friend and we invited everyone we knew in the neighborhood, and a handful of women we didn’t, over for dinner.
And, just like always, I reached out because I was lonely. And because jealously has historically been a good radar for me… cluing me into my desire and prompting my action - letting me know a behavior, habit, or mindset needs to change.
It’s amazing what jealousy can lead to when we listen to it.
*Here’s my therapist reminder that this is why we pay attention to and name our emotions :) it’s not to wallow and live in them… it’s to acknowledge and use them to inform our choices.
There was no part of me that wanted to have friends in anticipation of an 8-months-pregnant-husband-out-of-town flood.
But the lonely neighborhood has evolved - we switch off hosting girl’s nights now. It’s become a regular part of our routine where every few months, we gather.
The last couple weeks have been filled with remediation teams, insurance, airbnbs, and cleaners, as we work to fix our house so we can bring a baby home to a mold-free situation. And my husband is thankfully - home and the ringleader of the whole process.
But I don’t think I’m ever going to forget standing in my house full of helpers, watching them step in and move furniture, wet vac floors, and manage my crazy children.
I don’t think I’m ever going to forget my friend hearing my voice crack on the phone and bringing her whole family over for 5 hours of manual labor.
I’m never going to forget the men who introduced themselves to me as my friend’s husbands and promptly rolled up their sleeves.
It took me being extremely vulnerable and them being incredibly self-sacrificing, and I feel so much more connected to this community for it.
I wanted to tell this story for a few reasons:
to explain my absence on here!
it’s wild and so ridiculous it makes for a good laugh
and because our first neighbor dinner was a year ago, to this day
We can convince ourselves that it takes decades to build community, or that living far away from family means living in isolation. But sometimes, it doesn’t. Sometimes it takes a crisis, letting people in, and saying “yes” to helping. Sometimes it takes giving up your Friday afternoon for a frantic pregnant lady. And, sometimes it takes getting a text thread going, and throwing out an invite, or eventually, a need.
Whatever form it takes for you this summer, I hope you use these months to connect. Because its the silly things - like BBQs and girls nights and splash pads get the ball rolling on the connections we actually want to have.
