Mr.Q is a little…challenged, when it comes to his understanding and expectations of most things biological. He’s far more of a math and physics kind of guy – a degree in engineering will do that to a person – and, while we’re both ‘hey, that’s just the way it is’ people on the whole, he still gets surprised, particularly by pregnancy, into making unfortunate exclamations.
You know, things like:
1. I didn’t think you’d be that big until, like, 8 months! [stated at about 5 1/2 months]
2. your butt’s getting kind of squishy
3. I can’t hug you properly anymore…
or, my new favourite:
4. you need a bigger bath towel for all that surface area!
Yeah. Love you too, babe.
His only saving grace, thus far, has been the fact that these profound statements are made at the end of the night when I’m too tired to do much more than throw a baleful Death Stare. This does yield some minor back-peddling, but it would seem that the appalling shock of my new-found girth is genuine and not just some premeditated, petty little dig. Further back-peddling usually occurs the next morning, generally after I exclaim at bumping my belly into the counter or at my ever-shrinking number of socially acceptable shirts. [‘no, but you’re really not that big – I mean, there’s an entire baby in there!’]
I’ve tried to make him watch the Life Network baby shows for some perspective, but I don’t think it has really sunk in. We start prenatal classes next week and, from the sounds of it, most people attending will be about a month farther along that I – a little real, live visual aid to set him straight, and set him up for what’s coming.