Something happened to my wife this week. My wife who is thirty-eight weeks pregnant, who never had morning sickness, who hasn’t had any major complications, who has been handling pregnancy with poise and grace, has finally cracked.
Maybe it was the non-stop heartburn, maybe is was the no caffeine, or maybe it was the swollen ankles that finally did it. But there was a turning point for my wife and it happened at approximately 7:50 on Sunday night. With less than two weeks to D-day, pregnancy had won the battle.
The smile faded from my wife’s face as each and every muscle in her body started to hurt. He skin has become too sensitive to the touch. Being comfortable is a very distant memory, along with sleeping well and fitting into her skinny jeans. She is tired and irritable and I, am utterly useless.
All I can do is watch, as my former wife (turned human incubator) slowly trudges through her day-to-day while the life force is being drained from her by the demon growing in her uterus. I have no words of comfort. I don’t know or understand what she is going through. I can’t possibly imagine what it is like. All I can do is wait, smile, hide the scissors, and try not to stare at what looks to be just god awful. I feel sorry for her, not enough to wish it was me, but sorry none the less.
There is no white flag to raise and no towel to throw in. Pregnancy is calling the shots and taking no prisoners. Still with the countdown to D-day at eight, there is hope on the horizon. Her perseverance through this nine month “beautiful transformation” is a testament to what a strong woman my wife is. She is doing her best and I am extremely proud of her.