Dave Has Enough: "Stop Bludgeoning Me with the Baby"

I'm carrying a wide load, and I'm carrying all of it straight out front. I still have a waist, an hour-glass figure even. I also have the largest belly imaginable, and it's only getting bigger with every passing day.

So I'm making some adjustments, like sitting farther back from the computer desk at the clinic and angling myself at the dinner table because the belly doesn't fit underneath. Don't get me started on washing dishes - I can do the plates and silverware ok, but as soon as I try to wash the pots, with my short arms at odd angles because I have to stand so far from the sink... I beg off and leave them for Dave.

A baby gut is not a beer gut - it doesn't move out of the way, it can't be sucked in, and it's hard as a rock. Think of it as an extra appendage.

And I love my husband. A lot. (Has that come across in these entries? We have been accused of being sickeningly cute with each other, which is why it's a good thing no one else lives with us). I get excited when he arrives home, or when we cross paths as I beeline toward the bathroom, or when I decide that it's time to go disturb him as he does his homework.

So with all my enthusiasm in mind, picture me rushing toward my husband and almost knocking him over with the belly. Bam! Dave grabbed the counter and remained upright, but he almost hit the floor. And then he had to say the following words: stop bludgeoning me with the baby!

Never did I consider that I would be responsible for abusing my husband with our child in utero. This is my public mea culpa - sorry, Dave!