Let me just preface this by saying I know you ate my secret freezer stash of Girl Scout cookies. I’m not going to point out the despicability of stealing food from a pregnant lady, though. Just know I don’t forget that kind of thing. Neither does Jesus.
Anyways, I just wanted to go ahead and get a few things out on the table now that we have to go through this pregnancy thing again. I learned a few lessons the first go around, and I’m going to be proactive about addressing the major sources of tension between us in the last pregnancy. I know I told you (every single day for 9 months, sometimes more than once) how much being pregnant sucks, but I’m not sure you really got it.
I know you’re thinking I’m nuts, because you’re the most compassionate man on Earth. I’m going to go ahead and assert the most compassionate man on Earth doesn’t guzzle beers by the dozen while volunteering me as the Designated Driver. Go ahead: keep eating that pizza/dip/cake/pantry. I’m fine. I’ll just sit back and try not to gain five pounds in a week from eating fruit. By the way, I hope it goes straight to your ass.
Yes, my boobs are enormous. So is everything else on my body. Shooting from a B cup to a DD in three months isn’t nearly as much fun as you think it is. So, I’m going to need you to stop touching me when I don’t want to be touched. By the way – there is no way for you to know when that is. And when I do want you to touch me, you better do it if you don’t want to shatter my fragile feelings into a million pieces. Sorry, but there is also no way for you to know when that is.
I also wanted to take a little moment and address that thing you do when you’re in a bad mood and tired – you know, the furrowed brow and the grumpy pants? I’ll see your fatigue and raise you a shot of sciatica and a dose of hip spread. Still feeling bad? Be thankful you can pop an Ibuprofen if you’re in pain. I’ll be over here trying to figure out what the fuck to do with a Netti pot. Maybe after that, I’ll pretend like there’s actually a useful and active ingredient in Tylenol.
Now might be a good time to address the situation in the bathroom, as well. Considering the overpowering nausea I’m suffering, I’d really appreciate it if you’d try to contain some of the noxious fumes originating from the toilet. Don’t try to deny it. We both know it wasn’t me – I haven’t shit in weeks.
After all, this isn’t Sparta, and I never claimed to be the toughest chick in the world. It’s ok for me to be a little wimpy while I grow a human. Last time around I learned not to expect foot massages or late night food runs, but hovering over me with a kettle bell and reminding me I can still run is where I draw the line.
We’ll get through this one, just like we got through the last one. Just focus less on my expanding waist line and more on the contents of my soon to be enormous belly. Remember there’s another life in there – another kid who’s going to see you as the greatest dad in the world, just like our son.
So, when you’re watching me consume a pound of crab dip, or heaving me out of bed in the morning, or listening to me belch like a frat boy, just keep telling yourself the same thing I repeat to myself daily: You did this to me. You did this to me. You did this to me.
I love you, even if you are an Alpha Male with zero sympathy for how much it sucks to be pregnant. I’ll put up with the crappy parts to carry a piece of you around with me for the next 6 months and give you another baby come November 2. I’m just not going to pretend like I don’t hope it’s a girl this time.