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Broke Wife, Big City
When pregnant
women attack!
By Aprill Brandon
The other day, my husband woke up, rolled over in bed and just stared
at me, his bleary eyes full of fear.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I had a dream. A long dream. That you were mad at me. Just one, long,
giant dream of you being really angry at me,” he replied mechanically
while shivering involuntarily.
And there it was. Out of the mouths of babes, if you will. Or
shell-shocked husbands, in this case. I have managed in my pregnant
state to thoroughly traumatize an adult man. So much so, in fact, that
he can’t even catch a break in his dreams.
In my defense, this is at least 50 percent his fault. He made his bed
and now he has to lie in it while a huge, puffy, irrational wife yells
at him because Tina Fey is no longer on “SNL” and why the hell did they
take Cecily Strong off Weekend Update? Huh? HUH!?!
Still, I feel deep down that I should apologize. But I can’t. I just
can’t. I’m lucky if at this point I can choke out a “good morning”
without literally growling afterward. Honestly, trying to pretend to be
a normal human being when really you’re drowning in lady hormones that
make you want to light everyone on fire is one of the hardest, yet
overlooked, accomplishments of womankind.
Have you been set on fire by a pregnant woman? No? That proves right
there how much inner strength we females have. Cause somewhere down the
line, I guarantee a pregnant woman really, REALLY wanted to do you
significant harm. You might not even know her. She could have been
standing in line behind you at the grocery store when you were taking
too long to find your debit card, unlike a normal person who would have
already had their card out and at the ready while the FREAKING CASHIER
WAS SCANNING YOUR DUMBASS ITEMS, YOU STUPID, BLOODY MORON, I HOPE YOU
DIE.
It’s worse this time too, believe it or not. Because now I have a
toddler and every ounce of non-crazy in my pregnant body (which ain’t
much) is used up calmly trying to explain to him for the 33rd time why
we don’t headbutt Mommy’s face, no matter how hilarious he thinks it
is. And any leftover non-crazy is used up trying not to hurl the sofa
at my dog every time he barks (which is any time anything within a
three mile radius of our house slightly moves).
Which means my husband gets the full brunt of crazy thrown at him on
pretty much a daily basis.
For example, here are some reasons I got mad at him today:
He let me eat too much cheese
Someone drank a martini on TV and I got really jealous
He knew Sookie wasn’t asked to be in the “Gilmore Girls” revival and
didn’t tell me because he was worried I’d get irrationally mad about it
He let me eat too much fried chicken.
I fell asleep and missed the end of “Supernatural.”
I’ll never be able to read all the books in the world before I die.
Exacerbating all this hormonal craziness is the fact that all the fun
has been taken out of modern day pregnancy. Because science hates fun.
So, drinking, smoking, fancy foreign cheese? Fuggetaboutit. Opium dens?
Nope. You aren’t even allowed cheap thrills like a heady dose of NyQuil
(just non-coma-inducing aspirin for you, missy) or chugging a Red Bull
until you are so caffeinated that the number 11 smells like
purple.
You can’t even get properly fat anymore. It used to be you were
supposed to take it easy and eat for two. Now my doctor is telling me
hurtful things like “eat salad” and “exercise every day” and “your
weight gain is unprecedented.” Plus, all those annoying people
screaming at me to love my new soft, squishy, round pregnant body; the
same people, mind you, who for the past 30 years were screaming at me
that the ultimate definition of feminine beauty was to be shaped like a
scarecrow.
Is it any wonder we go crazy?
So, no, I won’t apologize to my husband. At this point, I’m just trying
to survive until my due date.
But I do want to thank him. A huge thank you, in fact. As hard as
pregnancy is, at least I know my partner won’t burst into tears and
throw the remote against the wall if I ask him to turn down the TV. He
has dealt with everything like a gentleman and a scholar. Even when I
want to eat dinner at 4:30 p.m. because food is literally the only
thing I look forward to anymore or I decide we have to go through all
the closets RIGHT NOW and get rid of EVERYTHING because I am nesting
and NESTING HARD.
Still, through all this, even when I’m getting ready to sling the last
crazy arrow of the day at him, he kisses me, gathers all the pillows in
the house and makes me a pillow fort on the floor because I can no
longer get comfortable lying down on our lumpy couch.
And each night I fall asleep and sleep the peaceful, dreamless,
beautiful sleep of the woman who knows she is truly loved.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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