Whenever I am even remotely pregnant – be it 5 days or 5 months – I always immediately want to murder The Man.
I see it as mildly heroic that I continue to resist the urge especially as he seems dedicated to trying to goad me every step of the gestation. Whether it’s jokes about my increasing resemblance to Jabba the Hutt or my pregnancy acne or my pregnancy sweating, they are comments I could do without.
Slow poisoning by arsenic is said to be virtually undetectable. Just sayin’.
10 ways the man is wrong about EVERYTHING (Pregnancy Special):
1. Saying “You’re not that pregnant”
OH, hell no.
2. Or saying “Awwwww, look how fat you’re getting”
Never comment on my pregnant body except to say that my arms and legs are looking positively twig-like.
3. Complaining about the aggressive farting I’m doing
Not cool. Does he not understand the near-debilitating foetus-related wind that I’m experiencing?
4. Making any comment on the stash of crisp packets I’ve attempted to hide in the bin
Weirdly Monster Munch is the only thing that relieves the nausea. Do. Not. Mock.
5. Becoming in ANY WAY impatient with our pregnancy ailments
You’ve got 30 more weeks of this buddy, you better plaster on Sympathy Face if you know what’s good for you.
6. Having any ailments themselves
No way. Man Flu or Sympathy Sickness will not fly. Any suffering he is experiencing will be met with glaring on our part.
7. Any HINT that our current discomfort is not ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND PERCENT their fault will not be tolerated
We DARE you to mention that we suggested the second baby idea.
8. Starting any sentence with “Shouldn’t you…”
We’re pregnant, Motherf*cker, ‘should’ is no longer a part of our lexicon.
9. Any response other than “Yes Master” to the follow requests:
“Rub my feet/back/head/belly/hands/legs/face.”
“Fetch me some chicken-flavoured corn snacks.”
“Roll me over.”
“I’m ready for my heels to be pumiced.”
10. He laughed at me
I can’t remember why, it might have been my weird giant boobs or the fact that I cried, quite improbably, at House of Cards but, either way, it does not matter, the rule is never laugh at the woman who is heroically growing the spawn of your loins.
