A Note on the Third Trimester

"Its so uncomfortable. Help me. No, really! Help me!"

I look over bemusedly at my ice chewing wife. She just spent nearly 45 seconds struggling with what can only be described as an aborted attempt to Fosbury Flop into our super-pillowtop bed. It is a nightly ritual here in the Third Trimester. She rummages through my gym shorts and my T-shirts hoping to find pregnancy-friendly pajamas, and then she does the pre-jump routine of properly placing the body pillow in or near the landing area. This is quickly followed by dirty looks and cursing under her breath.

I am used to it by now. I make feeble attempts to console her.

"Your doing great, honey."

"May I replace the ice in your glass?"

"No, you do look great in my ratty t-shirt."

I'm a pretty good husband. Wait, she's getting up again. Oh, its all right. Just another trip to the restroom.