Pregnancy is just plain hard work, and we as women know that
men can never truly understand this. So
we try to make them appreciate it by subtly hinting at what ails us. “I went downstairs and laid in the recliner
last night for 3 hours, did I wake you up?...I just need to sit down - I’ve
been in the kitchen all afternoon and my back is screaming at me…I just need to
walk – my hips are sore…I don’t have hips anymore, so I don’t know how I’m supposed
to cart around this laundry basket...I wish I knew what my bra size was this
week!!...No, seriously, do you know what it’s like to feel like someone is
clawing into your hip?...Well, I’m standing, so I guess that means I have to
pee…Do you know where your sciatic nerve is?
I DO!” Again, subtle hints.
To the general public and anyone who asks, I am an energetic
pregnant lady, loving every minute of this ride (which overwhelmingly is true,
honest, I really can’t complain). But
the annoyances have to come out somewhere, so we reserve the best for those we
are closest to – enter my sweet hubby. It’s
true he will never himself feel what it’s like to be pregnant, but as I think
about his behavior over the last few months it makes me second guess my soapbox. When I interject one of my not-so-casual
complaints, he always responds with genuine support and sympathy. “Go sit down, I’ll do the dishes…Go walk on
the treadmill for a while – I’ll handle bedtime tonight…Let me carry that…I’m
sorry you’re not sleeping well, should I go to the guest room?...Is there
anything I can do?” And when I wake up
in the middle of the night and sit up to stretch, he often silently rubs my
back or whispers his thanks for carrying his child.
It occurs to me that perhaps the concept of being “pregnant”
can be expanded beyond the literal, physical sense. If pregnant means your life is completely
altered for 9 months in anticipation of a child and you take on some burdens
you otherwise wouldn’t, then yes, I would absolutely say we are pregnant. As my gentleman
of a husband quickly bends over to grab our son’s shoes before I have to and looks
for every opportunity to make my life easier, I know that his life is
different, too. I know that when he offers
compliments and reflexively responds to my complaints with affirmation, he is
holding up his end of the deal. It’s
reasonable to think that living with a hormonal, self conscious partner is probably
no picnic either, so I’m willing to expand my definition of pregnant to acknowledge
that.
This realization hit me like a bolt of lightning when we
took a mini family vacation this weekend to an indoor waterpark. As we were packing up to return home, I watched
my husband balance my body pillow on his shoulders, stuff my other pillow under
his arm, and fill his hands with luggage as he prepared for the long, cold walk
to the parking lot at the other end of the resort. For some reason that sight grabbed me by the shoulders
(oh, my poor, tense shoulders) and shook me a little bit. I suddenly felt incredibly touched by his
willingness to cart around my prego paraphernalia, no questions asked, and his
determination to have his wife and son walk no further than 20 feet in the
cold. I was immediately filled with
appreciation for all the moments of support – big and small – he has shown over
the last few months that I often take for granted. As I started to catalogue them in my mind, I
realized what a change this is in his life as well. And it occurred to me in that moment: this guy
might be a little bit pregnant.
