I put on my baseball cap and had my hand on the door to the garage Sunday when my husband asked me one last time if I was sure he couldn't mow the lawn for me.

Sure, I'm in the sixth month of my pregnancy. But I told him that as long as I was still working up a sweat in the same aerobics classes I've been taking since before I became pregnant, I should be able to push a little self-propelled mower around a flat yard. I even put on my heart rate monitor to confirm that I wasn't overdoing it.

That's not what worried him, he said. It's the visual image of a pregnant lady pushing a mower while her husband is nowhere to be seen. His friends at work said the only thing that would be funnier is if he sat on the front steps and watched me work, perhaps sipping a beer.

The argument is not lost on me. I still feel like I'm being watched from other people's windows whenever I work in the front yard. (And why shouldn't I? I watch my neighbors and pass judgment on their lawn projects.) I don't want pity from strangers.

What convinced me to go out anyway, though, was the grass. The lawn seems to have transformed from dormant to vibrant in a matter of days. Even the spots I thought were truly dead have some green blades popping through.

It was a beautiful, cool fall afternoon, and I had energy. This was no time to sit indoors - or on the front step eating ice cream - while my husband got to enjoy the revived grass.

We thought about it for a minute and decided that at least I could wear a baggy shirt to make the image less shocking.

It didn't matter. I mowed for maybe five minutes before a neighbor, who knows I'm pregnant, stopped me to chat.

I cut the engine and immediately launched into a rambling speech about how my husband wanted to mow but I wouldn't let him, and how I'm fine and isn't it just fabulous to mow the lawn on a day like this.

Much to my surprise, she didn't try to sneak me away to a hidden shelter for abused women. She just nodded and said she mowed her lawn, too, when she was pregnant. We talked about her kids, the neighborhood and our yards, then I started the mower again and went back to work.

When I finished, I was doubly glad I decided to do the mowing. It was satisfying to see progress in the lawn, and also to catch up on news in the neighborhood with somebody who's clearly less paranoid than I am.

I had forgotten that sometimes it's a good thing to go outside where the neighbors can see you from their windows. If it weren't for yard work, I probably wouldn't know any of my neighbors at all.

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Julie Kirkwood's "Yard Dirt" appears weekly in the Home North section. Reach her by calling 978-946-2251 or via e-mail at jkirkwood@eagletribune.com.