Today, I “helped” A and my FIL replace an old AC unit. When I say helped I mean adding such witty comments as “Are you sure you cut the hole in the plywood big enough?”
The old AC unit had this crazy huge bird’s nest in it, and, as A and his dad were moving things around, I noticed a tiny white speckled egg on the ground next to the house. A thought for sure it was empty, but I gently rolled it with a stick, and it had some weight to it.
MIL got me a garden spade to scoop it up, b/c somewhere as a child I was told not to touch birds eggs because a) they’re covered in diseases and b) if the birds smell my scent on the egg, they’ll abandon it (I have no idea as to whether either of these things are actually true).
I scooped up the egg, and it was just so light and tiny that it rolled right off the trowel… and cracked on the ground. Little baby egg yolk. Little baby egg white. I am a very sensitive person by nature when it comes to animals, and cue all this crazy emotional stuff lately, and I just felt utterly heartbroken. Like, the one thing I was looking out for, this strange fixation I had on this poor little lonely egg while the guys worked on the AC – I just wanted to make sure it didn’t get crushed while they worked in that area.
I found my Easter egg today, and I broke it.
I excused myself to the bathroom to wash my hands (remember: diseases), but mostly to cry for a minute and get myself back together.
Perhaps I put a little too much meaning into things, but I was profoundly saddened by this little random moment today.
