I'd never have considered myself to be someone who was afraid of heights. I don't actually think I am. Husband has been working on painting the dormers of our house recently, since we're getting our roof replaced (hooray for hail and insurance!). It's been a long process, so when Husband went to work yesterday, I decided to be helpful and give him a hand. I've been pretty out of commission lately with the whole c-section recovery/gaping wound thing, so it felt good to be productive. Maybe I was running off the endorphins created by last weeks basement clean-up, maybe I was just nuts, but there I was, up on the 2x8 board "scaffolding". It took me a while to get up there, carrying my paint can and brush. The roof is pretty steep and there is a good 4 feet from the edge of the roof to the board. Once firmly placed, I looked around and immediately regretted my plan. I didn't feel secure at all.
I wasn't sure what to do. Getting back to the ladder was impossible (the idea of crawling DOWN the steep roof right to the edge seemed a whole lot more daunting than climbing up). I knew the window was open, since Husband had taken part of it down to fix, leaving only poly, a screen and a blanket (impromtu window covering in Girl's room while Husband also builds a "treehouse" in there, long story for another day) in my way. So, I did what any good wife would do. I painted my way to the window and let myself in.
Entertainingly, Girl was still in bed when I crawled through the window into her treehouse. She thought it was fantastic.
I felt like a failure, but at least I wasn't the kind of failure that ends up in the emergency room. I took my disapproving looks from Husband gracefully, and now I know... I'm not afraid of heights. However I am afraid of falling.
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