Now that it's over, I can laugh about it.
Allow me to set the scene. Florida. August. Heat index of 100+ degrees every day. Me, 40.5 weeks pregnant.
Saturday night the house started to get warm. I told Brian I thought we might be having a problem with our AC. He told me it was just me "being pregnant." You can imagine how well that went over. By the time the temperature inside the house reached 84 degrees at 10pm, I knew we had a problem. The AC unit in my college apartment used to run low on Freon and ice over frequently, causing the same problem so I assumed that's what we were dealing with. However, our AC unit is in the attic crawl space so I couldn't get up there to verify for myself. (At this point, Brian is still operating under the assumption that I'm a crazy pregnant lady. I didn't bother to ask him to climb up there to take a look.)
First thing Sunday morning I called out an AC repairman and he was at the house by 10am. I assumed he'd pump in some Freon, de-ice the unit and save the day. Instead, he dropped a bomb. Our compressor was fried. If you're like me and don't speak air conditioning, this is bad news. Very bad news. He recommended we get an entirely new A/C unit to the tune of $6,000-$8,000. I recommended he get his head examined. Plan B was to replace the fried compressor for about a third of that. Yes, please!
Unfortunately, the parts suppliers are all closed on weekends. We were told we'd have no air until at least Monday when they could get the part and come out to repair the unit. At this point it's about 85 degrees in the house and I'm starting to panic. Luckily, I have the best sister ever who let us crash at her place on Sunday night to escape the heat.
Yesterday, the company said they couldn't be out to start repairs until 2-4pm, so I spent the day running errands and shopping for things I didn't need. (Sure, why not buy more outfits for the kid who has more clothes than she can ever wear?!?) Of course, the repairman had to send me to the brink of panic and didn't show until 4:10pm. At this point the house was an unbearable 91 degrees. I thought I would literally melt sitting in there waiting for them to complete the repairs. The Wicked Witch of the West "I'm melting, I'm melting" scene from Wizard of Oz kept running through my head. If not delirious, I was certainly dramatic!
Four hours later, the AC was fixed. Sort of. We turned on the air and left to grab dinner. When we got home it was down to 84 degrees. And honestly, it felt fabulous. When I woke up at 4am, it was 76 degrees. I nearly cried tears of joy.
They came back out this morning to do godknowswhat to the unit but we seem to be in business. It's still a heavenly 76 degrees in the house and I am no longer on the verge of an overheated pregnant lady nervous breakdown.
Despite the heat and unexpected repair bill, I can't help but think how lucky we are. What if Blaire had been born on time and we'd had a brand new baby in a house without air? I can't even imagine the nightmare of packing up everything we'd have needed for her and trying to learn the ins and outs of a newborn at a hotel. Thank you Blaire for being late! The house is cool now so feel free to join us when you're ready.
*I'm sure my tales of air conditioning woe aren't of much interest to most of you, but I just had to get this down for our own memories. Not that I'll ever forget it!
**Bonus points if you know where the quote in the blog title comes from. Actually, strike that. You lose points if you don't know. It's a classic, people!