the sympathy of men...

My husband is a jewel. Really he is.

Over the last 5 months I've been convinced that he's a closet nursing professional. He's been kind, caring, patient beyond belief.

There's some inner switch that flips in a truly good man when the woman he loves is carrying his child. He'll do all kinds of things that he'd never dreamed of before. With joy.

Like midnight snack runs. Or holding you upright in the shower when you're about to faint. Or doing all your chores in addition to his own. Or getting your snacks out of the refrigerator because the slightest smell makes you gag and run from the room.

But then there are moments when, like every human, he does something that makes you wonder about his sanity. Or at least, your reaction makes him question yours.

Like coming in from work one night last week, flopping on the couch, and announcing that he's so tired he "feels like he's pregnant!"

I just walked out of the room.

But he's only human, right? Fallible. Bound to fall off his perfectly polished pedestal once or twice over nine months.

I guess I can grant him that. After all, the next morning he scrubbed out the refrigerator with bleach, dumped all the expired food and totally organized the remaining contents. I can almost get my own snacks without holding my nose now.

In my book, that puts him right back up near perfect. Even if he does think he's tired enough to feel pregnant. HAH.