I didn't get a picture, but that's what we had yesterday morning. Which wouldn't be so bad (notwithstanding my continuing concern over my poor little seedlings), except that after six hours of labor on Saturday, the furnace repair guys announced that the problem was with the pump, which won't come in until Tuesday.
So it's been hovering in the low fifties around here. We are all going around dressed like ragamuffins, and D1 is learning that people who won't grow full heads of hair must learn to leave their hats on. The temperature doesn't bother me that much, being as I have more, uh, insulation than anyone else around here, plus all that handy increased blood flow of pregnancy, but it freezes up DOB's joints and makes it hard for him even to move. D1 doesn't seem disturbed by it, but we are disturbed when her hands are cold, and I'm afraid she's going to forget everything she knew about crawling by the time we let her back on the floor.
Last night we determined the only way to keep her warm was to keep her in bed with us. Now, I have read much on the joys of co-sleeping, and I always thought it sounded nice. I like my baby close by, and I was sad when we had to move her out of the basket by our bed. But I have come to the conclusion that people who enjoy it must (a) have a bigger bed than we do; (b) be sounder sleepers than I am--and have sounder-sleeping babies. Because with D1 in the bed, I spend most of the night noticing new aches and pains developing because I can't roll over because it would wake up D1. Not to mention that she woke up and fussed--for no reason we could discern, she certainly didn't want to eat--every half-hour or so during the night. Maybe she thought it was too crowded in there, too.
Today it's supposed to be sixty degrees. Hopefully at least some of that will make it inside here.