Rob thinks I’m a hero.
Now of course I think I am. Hello? I’m wearing a cape. But how clever am I that I’ve successfully convinced him that I’m somehow amazing for managing to survive pregnancy? After all, it’s not like women all over the world have been doing this for thousands of years. (They have? Well for God’s sake, keep that to yourself! I could potentially score some jewelry out of this.)
Of course the reason Rob thinks I’m so heroic is because I’ve made sure that he knows all of the trials I’m going through while incubating our son. He lived through the ten weeks of miserable whining and nausea that was my first trimester. He gets to hear all about my daily aches and pains, and gets to see me limp around in the evenings like an 80 year-old crone. He’s forced to admire my puffy cankles and hobbit feet. And listen to the moaning and groaning every time I have to get in and out of the car or the bed. And I make sure he knows exactly how many times I had to get up to pee last night. (Six, if anyone is interested.)
Yet he’s managed to survive it all. He hasn’t once given up and snapped “Okay, I get it already! You’re uncomfortable!” He hasn’t once made fun of my freakishly huge belly and puffy ankles, and in fact always does his best to try and make me feel pretty. He makes dinner or goes and picks something up on the nights that I don’t think I can limp around another moment. He’s made many store runs for such essentials as: Dr. Pepper, Blue Bell, and Rolos. He’s assembled more nursery furniture than anyone should ever have to. (“This is the last thing we need, I swear!”) And he’s done all the lifting and carrying and cleaning that I deemed too much for my delicate condition. He took me away to a bed & breakfast in Fredericksburg for a lovely weekend of shopping and eating. And he’s accompanied me on several trips to what has to be a man's version of the seventh ring of hell: Babies R Us.
And I know that as long as he shows our baby boy as much patience as he’s shown me these last 39 weeks, he’s going to be a great dad.
Now, about those brownies I’m craving…