R often says things like "I just know this baby is going to come early" and "He's going to be a big one!" This just makes me want to hit him. The idea of a big baby in the abstract is appealing--who doesn't want to casually drop "My son is in the 99th percentile for height and weight and all the doctors think he is destined to become the next Lord and Savior of Mankind due to his amazing physical prowess," but when one is faced with the idea of actually pushing said messiah-baby through one's lady bits, the idea of average is starting to look distinctly appealing. And as for the first comment--yes, I'm sure it would be nice to give birth at 38 weeks, as everyone says those last few weeks are basically designed to make childbirth an appealing option compared to staying pregnant. But what if I give birth at 42 weeks? I'm going to be hating him for all the "early birth" comments while I drag my increasingly heavy body about the house like some sort of massive African land mammal.
But all that aside, I can honestly say I have never been more in love with my husband than I am these days. R has thanked me for carrying our child literally every day since we found out that this pregnancy was viable. The expression on his face when he talks about the baby or feels him move is indescribable. It goes beyond joy. Whenever I tell him about how active the boy has been, he laughs, and it is the greatest sound I've ever heard. He is going to be the best father, which is something I've known for years from watching him with his nephews.
Our wedding was wonderful, and I truly do feel that we consecrated ourselves to each other that day. But this is something so much more profound and real. Out of our love, we have created a human being. For better or for worse, we are in each other's lives forever now--there is no going back. And I could not imagine anyone I would rather take this journey with than my husband.
I should print this out so I can read it when I'm all sleep-deprived and angry that he gets to go to the office in clean clothes while I stay home to be mauled by a newborn in between endless bouts of laundry.