Following my Florida fishing and hunting husband into the woods, in the rain, while pregnant

When we first got married, my fishing and hunting husband would ask me to go into the woods before the start of every hunting season to help him set up tree stands and scout out hunting spots. Even though the woods scared me because of all the creepy and crawling things that lived in trees and on the ground, I willingly agreed. I considered our trips out to the Florida wildlife management area where my hunting spouse lived most of his life during hunting season as our weekends away.

Until the year I was pregnant came, that is. Then, well, it wasn't so fun.

But come the start of hunting season, my husband asked if I would help him. Not to carry anything, he insisted. But just to keep him company. This was from the same man who, within the first hour of me telling him I was pregnant and him celebrating, said, "This isn't going to affect my hunting season, is it? I've got hunts around that time."

Determined not to let the birth of our first child to ruin hunting season, I agreed. And out we tromped into the woods. The "not having to hold anything" turned out to mean me dragging half a tree stand and a backpack with water. Granted, he carried the rest, plus a chain to hold it together and keep it safe.

The mile  hike turned out to be a little much for me, since I was carrying a little extra weight from being six months into the pregnancy. I slumped against the tree as he set up the stand, barely able to hand him various parts of the stand and equipment as he got higher into the tree.

Then the lightning started. I warily eyed the strikes off in the distance and heard the rumbling, as the sky grew darker and darker. I asked my husband if he was almost ready because I thought we should get back to the truck before it started raining.

He struggled with the lock and chain before declaring us ready to go back. But our time was out. It started to sprinkle, then drizzle. About halfway back to the road, we walked into a torrential downpour, complete with lightning and thunder.

My husband started running. "Come on, hurry," he shouted. "We don't want you to get sick."

Water tricked down my hair, on to my nose and in my eyes, as I walked quickly. I couldn't run, I was too tired, and I was afraid I would trip and fall. I started crying. Then I got mad at myself for being such a wimpy city girl and cried even more.

As I sobbed and walked along the now muddy path, I stopped worrying about snakes. All I could think was that I was going to get sick from the rain or get struck by lightning and the baby was going to be hurt from it.

"I'm so sorry, Baby," I cried, rubbing my stomach. "I'm sorry you have a stupid mommy who followed your  stupid hunting daddy into the woods when it was raining."

I started counting, thinking it would help me get there quicker. "OK, 1,2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, just a few more seconds Baby, hold on, hold on. Mommy is almost there."

We did make it back to the truck without incident. And my dear hunting husband quickly grabbed his clean, dry clothes for me to wear and he turned on the heater in the truck. He kept apologizing all the way to Olive Garden.