It happened today. I’ve read in many pregnancy books about it, and I guess I knew it was coming.
Scene: 8 a.m. (7a.m. due to the end of DST) In bed. It’s cold outside the covers.
<Quiet, heard from the other room> Woof
P: "You take him."
G: "I took him yesterday morning so you could sleep."
"I take him every day. Taking him once a month does not balance out me
taking him every day and morning and night. It’s your turn."
"But it’s cold."
"Yeah."
"But I have a sore throat."
"Uh huh."
"But honey, I’m pregnant."
"That cuts no ice with me anymore."
Woof
"Cuts no ICE?? CUTS. NO. ICE. I knew this day would come. I’ve
read about it. I’m going to find the passage in the book I read that
tells me about it. <gets up, starts throwing around books.>
About how when you’re pregnant total strangers will open doors for you
and lift boxes of styrofoam bowls that weigh 0.007 pounds so you don’t
have to and give up their seats for you, but your own husband will
watch you move a couch from one of the room to the other and not bat an
eye. <finds the book, starts flipping through pages.>
Ahem. Woof woof woof.
"That’s right. He needs to go. Get going." <buries head in pillow>
"Oh you just wait. You. Just. Wait." <throws
book at reclining husband’s head. mumbles to self while putting on
shoes, coat, getting dog out of crate, putting on leash, taking for
walk in freezing Arctic cold.> "Typical. Soooo typical.
Being pregnant lasts 40 weeks, buddy. 40 weeks. I can’t tune out of
it just after 14 because it’s too hard. You have no idea what my body
is going through. You have no idea what it’s like to gag on your
toothbrush every morning and night. You couldn’t handle it. No man
could handle three straight months of nausea, exhaustion, and then
sudden hunger that leads you to contemplate roasting the dog or
possibly chewing off your own fingers in your desperate search for
something to shut up the appetite already. The desert parched throat,
the bloating and gas that makes you look like you’re seven months along
and feel like one could tie a string to your butt and tow you around
like a helium balloon, the getting up four times in the night to pee,
which has not ceased with the advent of the second trimester despite
all reassurances that it would. . . . <continue
in this vein during entire twenty minute walk, pausing only to wretch
violently at the smell of the dog’s bowel movement, a smell that, while
never pleasant, causes pregnant women’s oversensitive noses to send a
direct signal to the belly to PLEASE UNLOAD ALL EXCESS BAGGAGE
IMMEDIATELY, THANK YOU. Return home, still mumbling grumpily.>
"I took the damn dog."
"I see that."
"Stop ignoring my dark looks."
"Mmmhmmm. The New York Times is really interesting today. Let’s pick the holiday movies we want to see."
"Hold on. I just need to write a blog post."
Scene: 8 a.m. (7a.m. due to the end of DST) In bed. It’s cold outside the covers.
<Quiet, heard from the other room> Woof
P: "You take him."
G: "I took him yesterday morning so you could sleep."
"I take him every day. Taking him once a month does not balance out me
taking him every day and morning and night. It’s your turn."
"But it’s cold."
"Yeah."
"But I have a sore throat."
"Uh huh."
"But honey, I’m pregnant."
"That cuts no ice with me anymore."
Woof
"Cuts no ICE?? CUTS. NO. ICE. I knew this day would come. I’ve
read about it. I’m going to find the passage in the book I read that
tells me about it. <gets up, starts throwing around books.>
About how when you’re pregnant total strangers will open doors for you
and lift boxes of styrofoam bowls that weigh 0.007 pounds so you don’t
have to and give up their seats for you, but your own husband will
watch you move a couch from one of the room to the other and not bat an
eye. <finds the book, starts flipping through pages.>
Ahem. Woof woof woof.
"That’s right. He needs to go. Get going." <buries head in pillow>
"Oh you just wait. You. Just. Wait." <throws
book at reclining husband’s head. mumbles to self while putting on
shoes, coat, getting dog out of crate, putting on leash, taking for
walk in freezing Arctic cold.> "Typical. Soooo typical.
Being pregnant lasts 40 weeks, buddy. 40 weeks. I can’t tune out of
it just after 14 because it’s too hard. You have no idea what my body
is going through. You have no idea what it’s like to gag on your
toothbrush every morning and night. You couldn’t handle it. No man
could handle three straight months of nausea, exhaustion, and then
sudden hunger that leads you to contemplate roasting the dog or
possibly chewing off your own fingers in your desperate search for
something to shut up the appetite already. The desert parched throat,
the bloating and gas that makes you look like you’re seven months along
and feel like one could tie a string to your butt and tow you around
like a helium balloon, the getting up four times in the night to pee,
which has not ceased with the advent of the second trimester despite
all reassurances that it would. . . . <continue
in this vein during entire twenty minute walk, pausing only to wretch
violently at the smell of the dog’s bowel movement, a smell that, while
never pleasant, causes pregnant women’s oversensitive noses to send a
direct signal to the belly to PLEASE UNLOAD ALL EXCESS BAGGAGE
IMMEDIATELY, THANK YOU. Return home, still mumbling grumpily.>
"I took the damn dog."
"I see that."
"Stop ignoring my dark looks."
"Mmmhmmm. The New York Times is really interesting today. Let’s pick the holiday movies we want to see."
"Hold on. I just need to write a blog post."
You\’re far more of a lady than I am. I would have dragged Michael out of bed before I\’d have taken that dog out. Or I would have cried. Tears are usually very persuasive.
Boys suck sometimes. And apparently pregnancy sucks most of the time. Ugh. I can only hope that devouring the holiday movie preview help lighten your mood.
Amanda 🙂
one of the things i have discovered is that blogging is the best form of revenge.
one day this elderly woman, exercising her right as a senior citizen, was extremely mean and hateful to me in the grocery store. as i left the store i muttered to myself "i\’m SO going to write about her in my blog" that was when i realized that i was probably taking this blogging thing too seriously.
also….i really think you should come over to the dark side and start blogging officially at blogger.
c\’mon in, the water is fine.