The Simple Wife

I’ve spent so much time talking about my pregnancy experiences (which I’m hoping will draw to a close in the extremely near future), that I thought this would be an appropriate time to turn the spotlight onto my baby daddy. Poor, wonderful, exhausted, caring man. While I give him constant updates about my ever changing physical status, he has to live them vicariously, in addition to living with a wife who is sometimes cranky and unreasonable (please, don’t gasp in disbelief too loud–it does happen on rare occasions). After explaining in minute detail how I felt during church Sunday night, he became convinced that I would go into labor that night. I haven’t been sleeping well at all lately, but on Sunday, every time I turned over David (who is usually a heavy sleeper, and never notices when I get out of bed for anything) would wake up and ask, “Are you all right? How far apart are they?”

In my state of wakeful exhaustion, I could not do much more than try mumble something about being all right…which sounded like a groan–not the best way to convince your anxious, adoring husband that you’re really fine, you’re just trying to get comfortable. He assured me the next morning that he had understood my mumbles, he just didn’t believe me. That’s my fault, I presume. I’ve told him I wouldn’t wake him the minute I started having contractions, out of fear he would rush me to the hospital only to be sent home after being told they were “false”. Of course, knowing my intolerance of pain, it could turn out that as soon as the first legitimate contraction comes I’ll be screaming, “Get me to the hospital and find an anesthesiologist! I don’t care if this isn’t the real thing!”

Still, when I say I don’t know what I would have done these last nine months without my husband, I mean it. He’s been patient, loving, kind, and never gets tired of rubbing my feet, taking me to Dairy Queen, or humoring any of my other little pregnancy whims (like vacuuming the baseboards for me). We’ve tried to make the most of the last few weeks, cramming in as many last-date-night-without-kids opportunities as we possibly can and have enjoyed spending time together at the movies, late night runs for ice cream, water fights in the backyard, and of course, LOTS of cleaning! He’s still my bestest best friend in the whole world, and I’m hoping I won’t be too jealous about having to share him with my son. Ah, well, if we can have fun with two, three should be even better