Listen up, all you future Dads out there. Hossman has advice for you. I never take my own advice, but I love giving it out like a color man during curling. “Boy Jim, Canada should have really played the blue line there, yeah.” I don’t know what that means but I heard it during the Olympics.
I am going to lay down some knowledge that will make your lives easier when you wife is pregnant. Trust me on this, I know, I am your messiah. I am Jesus Jr. Listen to me and you will gain what it has taken me 2 pregnancies and 2 years to learn.
You cannot win. Give up. You cannot win.
I say this with no anger and no bitterness. To my wife, who I know is reading this, this is not a shot at you, please don’t make me sleep on the couch. I say this with an open heart and an understanding that you cannot have. Because, and this is true, you have Pregnancy Brain.
For those of you who don’t know what this is, it’s when a woman tends to, um, forget things and perhaps act a little more emotional than, um, perhaps we are used to. Things that didn’t bother them before may bother them now. Things that they would have normally remembered before they may not remember now. And some of the logical thinking that they did before, um, yep, that has gone out the window.
I am sure that my wife is trying to contact her lawyer for a divorce right now. Lucky for me I’m sure she can’t remember the number so I have some time before the powers that be censer me delete this post. All of you reading this, quickly email your friends before Big Brother destroys this knowledge. Treat it like the plans to the death star and remember we lost some mighty fine people getting this information out. Strength in unity.
I have proof of what I am saying. I have stories, I have the power of the word processor. I have more than one story!
The first pregnancy my wife’s A/C on her car went out. This is a very big deal, it’s hot in Texas. And you don’t want a hot pregnant wife. You will spend the next 2 days looking for a native with a big palm leaf. It’s terrible. So she had to go get his fixed. It was a simple procedure, all she had to do was replace a hose and we were good to go.
My wife comes back and I ask her “How did it go Honey. I love you. You are the greatest thing in the world.” When she is pregnant, she needs constant reassurance.
She says “Fine. We didn’t get the A/C fixed. But we got the radiator flushed.”
I spot the problem. Can you?
“Um, why didn’t the A/C get fixed and why did we get the radiator flushed. I love you. You are the greatest thing in the world.” I say.
“They didn’t have the hose. I don’t know why the radiator got flushed. It cost 300 bucks”.
Ok. For a moment I forget that we have a child on the way. For a moment I forget that my wife will be on maternity leave and will not have a paycheck. For a moment I forget that the very fabric of my family’s financial well being rests on my shoulder.
“What the hell? Was the radiator broken. I love you. You are the greatest thing in the world.”
“The radiator was fine. I don’t know why they flushed it.” She responds and now the reality is starting to sink in.
We just spent 300 bucks on something that our 3 year old car didn’t need. It didn’t even have that many miles on it. This is the reason is took me an extra year to get an Xbox. She realized that the mechanic took her for a ride and got a more expensive job out of her. She says that I should go back up there and complain and get my money back. I point out, what am I going to say? I’m sorry my wife agreed to the work you have already done, pay me?
But you have to let those things go. It’s rough on her, no doubt. She needs a little slack, she just needs one break. And here is the secret of how to handle pregnancy.
IT IS YOUR JOB TO CUT HER A BREAK.
That’s it. That’s how you get through it. You let just about every thing slide. You take a deep breath and close your eyes. You imagine a place where everyone is honest and not trying to screw you over. You imagine a place with 40 virgins and eternal glory. You imagine a place where radiators don’t get flushed. And then you step back, give her a kiss, tell her not to worry and then go get your secret bottle of vodka hidden in the toilet tank. And even when it comes to your physical safety, you cut her some slack.
Last night we were having dinner with a friend. He is about to get an xbox so I was going to show him around the digital world. I am a good leader, people adore me. We were having spaghetti. Well, kind of. It was turkey spaghetti which is like owning a Rolez watch. Not quite the real thing but you appreciate the effort. Actually this has to do with the “Pregnancy Diet” which is a whole other blog.
I was minding my own business by the sink. I was thinking about how I could make the world a better place and wondering how much money I should give to “Bunnies that need a home” foundation run by the Orphans in my town. Birds were chirping on my shoulder and Little Hoss was looking at me with awe. Everything was good in Superdad World.
Suddenly, and unprovoked I might add, I felt a searing pain on my left hand. This was serious pain, not the kind that you fake to get some sympathy from the hot cheerleader. No, this was the kind that shoots straight up your arm and makes even your eyelids hurt. Son of a bitch. That’s the only thing you can think.
“Ow!” scream as I pull back my mangled hand. My wife just looks at me, holding the end of a very hot pan. With an oven mitt on. She feels no pain.
It turns out that my wife didn’t realize a couple of things. 1. I was at the sink, her final destination with said hot pan. 2. My hand was on the corner of the actual sink. 3. Hot pans will sear flesh.
“What” she says.
What the hell do you mean “What”. My hand was just cooked like a deep fried turkey that’s what. What the fuck man! I’m right here! I am right in front of you! I am even wearing bright colors, how could you not see me before you put the near melted its so hot pan on my hand?! That’s what. Do I need to start wearing a little orange vest? How about a hard hat and belt blinkers?!
But I don’t say any of this, because it is my job to cut her some slack. And I may be exaggerating just a tad here. It was actually just a corner of the hot pan that touched a corner of my hand. But there is a blister and it hurts.
“You burned me!” I say.
“Sorry” she says but there is a part of me that thinks that she doesn’t really mean this. It was the way she said it. It’s like saying I’m sorry that you are so stupid to get in my way. I think she is more upset that I got mad at her rather than she is that she almost made me a gimp. It was said with almost a sneer and a flick of the hair. I also wonder, in my moment of agony, if she did this on purpose. Is she so mad that I am not pregnant that she wants me to share some of her pain? I say this is a possibility.
I can’t get water on it because now the hot pan is in the sink. Mumbling, because that is what husbands do, I go to the bathroom to soak my mangled limb. I may have said some sharp words but the pain of the moment prevents me from remembering them. I eventually come back and she says she’s sorry again. For a moment I almost begin to ask her what the hell just happened, do we have a big life insurance policy that I don’t know about?
But you don’t. You can’t. Because she has it rough and you get to play 2 hours of xbox every night. So you cut her some slack and you say:
“I love you. You are the greatest thing in the world.”