Let's assume that I don't know what it is like to be pregnant. Let's assume, just for the sake of arguement, that I don't have any fucking idea what it is like to grow a human being. Let's assume that I have no idea what you are talking about sometimes. I have no idea what you are feeling and I have no idea what it is like to not poop for 3 weeks because of iron pills.
And let us further assume that I don't speak crazy. Let us go on that road and assume again that I have no idea why the hell you are crying. Let's try a little role playing here. I'll be the insensitive husband that takes nothing seriously and you be the pregnant woman that is sure that I understand what it is like to be pregnant.
Are you ready? Ok, here we go.
You go ahead and stomp upstairs. Remeber, you have to speak in undertones so I have no earthly idea what it is that made you upset. Ok, good, we got that part down.
Then come into the bedroom and get undressed. Make sure you sigh then look at me like I am an evil bastard because now you have just realized that you have a big pregnant belly and continue to put on weight. Yes, that's it. That's the look. Ok, keep that up. Let me feel it. Make me understand that it was my uncaring prick that made you pregnant and did this to you. Good, Good! Let's go with that.
Now go over to the night stand and take your 42 pills that you have to take everynight. Do it with a little bit of resentment that I am the same weight and playing a video game like I do everynight. Gulp the water down extra loud, just to see if I notice what your sacrifice is. Meanwhile, I'll continue to get pissed that some 12 year old shoots me in my game and continously saying "Did you see that?!" That glint in your eyes, yes, that's hatred for me.
Ok, now drop your very last pill and spill the rest of your water so that even if you find it, you have to drink water out of the bathroom faucet. Which by the way, is stained with toothpaste that I spit out two days ago and have yet to clean out. Get down on all fours and search for your pills and be even further disgusted that you find it next to a pair of my socks that for some reason I refuse to pick up for the last 12 years. Make sure you are making a big deal of getting back up because you are carrying another life form. "Did you see that" will float across the room.
Now you think "Yeah I fucking see that. I see that I'm here on the ground while your perfectly normal ass is again infront of that god damn idiot machine." But don't say it, only feel it inside.
So get back up and head to the bathroom. Make sure you slam that door so that finally I can think "Man, is something wrong?"
But before you come back out, make sure you stay in there a good 10 minutes or so. That will give me time to realize that hey, something might be wrong with my pregnant wife. I know that it is hard to believe that it has taken me a grand total of 35 minutes to understand that you are not happy. No, it was not your responsibility to tell me. You are busy creating life while I am busing surfing for beaver shots of Lindsey Lohan. Of course I should know your moods by now. Let's just forget about the fact that your hormones are raging and that your moods change depending on what was the last comercial you saw. Don't worry about all that, this is only pretend anyway.
Ok, now come out of the bathroom and try to decide how to get onto the bed. I know, the bed looks higher when you are carring a small mack truck infront of you and you can't decide if you should saddle it like a horse or if you should just do a belly flop. Look at a while longer, my part is almost coming up.
This is where I ask you: "Is there something wrong honey." You say "no" then finally leap on to the bed like you just cleared the pole vault. Then frown and moan some more as you try to balance yourself like a tight rope walker on the corner of the bed. You don't want to go to the middle to much, remember that you have to get up and pee 4 times a night.
I'll ask you again, "Is something wrong?" because by this time, I have used my highly tuned detective skills to deduce that you just lied to me. I now believe that something is wrong, a good hour into this. But I don't put down the game controller yet, I haven't realized the extent of this and I have a good game going on.
You say again "Nothing is wrong" and then just lay there in a very creepy way.
Ok, now I get my chance to really shine. I can feel the bad "I hate you vibes" coming off you. I'm wondering what the hell I did this time, I thought I was pretty good. Did you see me spit out that chewing tobacco that I thought you didn't see because I'm trying to quit? Maybe I didn't flush the toilet, that always sends you over the edge. Or how about perhaps that I have once again "forgot" to change the diaper on the baby and forced you to do it once more? Let's run with that for a while because my mind is completely fucking blank.
And because I have no idea what the hell is wrong and you have not told me, I start to panic. I panic like a kid who has just realized that his 15 year old girlfriend is pregnant and dear god if you make this not true I will never have sex again when we all know that is an empty bargain and he'll just be banging it out again as soon as he knows she ain't. That's the panic I'm going for here.
But during the panic I revert to my old faithful, I begin to joke. This is in the hope that you will remember why you married me in the first place, because I am funny with a cute little ass. You begin to remember that I can spin a story so that the most mundane thing, like shopping with our daughter, turns into an epic Homer Oddessy. I start telling you about today's blog and then I let you in on some secrets. Like what tomorrow's blog is going to be about. Then you remember that I can't spell any better than rat with eyeglasses.
I pick up on this and tell you a story where I was in a spelling bee infront of the whole school when I was 7 and that the word that knocked me out for second place was "June". I tell you that I sounded it out and it sure as hell sounded like a "g" to me so that is what I said. Then I was told to take a seat.
In this role playing, that joke hits you really hard. You start laughing at the absuridity of it all. You can see in your mind's eye a little kid with knee high socks looking shocked that the word June does not begin with a G. Then I tell you that I was in the gifted and talented program in Arkansas, I swear to god I was. That makes you laugh even harder, "fucking Hillbillies" you think.
But then, you say "stop, my belly is hurting because I'm laughing." But I don't and I tell you that I once pooped in my pants, in a full sprint, at camp. I tell you that I was wearing the 1980's crotch tight shorts so the poop snuck out the back. You laugh even harder. Just remember, my character is in full on panic mode, he doesn't know when to stop. He only knows that if his wife is laughing, then all is good.
Ok, now is your big close up moment. Immediatly stop laughing, look straight ahead for a minute, then cry. Let's see if we can get some real tears, try to remember when your dog died. That's good, pour it on!
See that Deer in Headlights at the corner of your eye. That would be me. Because now, now only am I in full on panic, I have no idea what the fuck just happened. One minute I had you rolling, the next you are crying. You know that I can't handle it when you cry. I immediatly what to know who did this to you and give them some Hossman Justice. But there is no one else here but me, so I might have to pummell myself. Which my character would do for you, the love of his life and the mother to his two children.
You cry even harder as you see me start to completly go into full on panic now. I can't deal with this. I finally turn my game off and begin to pepper you with questions like it's jeapordy. What is wrong honey, why are you crying, what happened, what can I do. I am spouting questions so fast that they are only a blur puncuated by your sobs.
That's it, just like that. Now we get to the punch line of the whole moment. This the moment that we get that Oscar baby so let's really commit to the performance.
Look at me straight in the eye and say
"I'm tired of being pregnant."
Then watch for my reaction.
What the fuck. Where the hell has this come from. 2 minutes ago it was the tonight show with Hossman, now it's My Life staring Mr. Micheal Keaton. There's not a dry eye in the house, except for mine because I still don't understand what just happened.
I do everything that I am trained to do. Like a trained flea, welcome to my circus. I jump through every hoop trying to get it back like it was before without ever really understanding what you just said. I rub your feet, I ask if you want some water, I ask if there is anything that I can do.
Then I make you give me a hug because in my family if you just hugged it out, it meant that no one was mad anymore and it was ok. You resent this at first but you like the hugs.
You sniffle a little and then you enjoy the hug, because it does make everything better, even being pregnant and growing an alien.
I'm feeling quite proud of myself now and I ask you:
"Did you see that?"
I am superdad, welcome to my world, no one undertands it.