Hell Hath No Fury, Part Two

(Remember, I was pregnant. I cannot be held accountable. Also, Scott is still alive and well. He was not permanently damaged in any way...and he never grew breasts, either. )

The Story:
So, poor, weak, pregnant me calls Scott to come to the bedroom. I weakly ask him to bring me some saltines to ease my stormy stomach. Here's the kicker, though: he sighs and then brings the crackers. Sighs! At me! His pregnant wife! But I let it go and nibble at the crackers. But the crackers make me thirsty. So, I ask if he could bring me a little juice and -bingo- he gives me the eye roll/sigh/"Do you need anything else" combo. Lucky for him, I am weak and could not grab him by the throat before he moved out of arms reach.

Flash forward to later in the day. It is now evening. We are getting ready for bed. The time comes for me to take the prenatal BEASTS (vitamins) that cause my tummy to twist like an atom smasher and turn my intestine to cement. Now, Scott, as you may know, occasionally thinks he is more right than anyone else on the planet. Occasionally. The endless debate on the positioning of your bedroom furniture on the day you moved into your new house is a good example of Scott's intermittent maniacal "rightness spouting." ("But the west wall looks heavy with furniture. The dresser would be better placed beneath the southern window-- yadda, yadda, yadda." Please. As if he's Nate Berkus!) So, I put the vitamins back down, without taking them, and silently swear that I will abstain from these pills of torture until I am no longer nauseated, or I have a bowel movement-- whichever comes first. It is at that point that Scott says, "You're going to take the vitamin, right?" I say no. At this point "Dr. Scott" goes on and on about how I have to take it, that I need to be a grown up and look beyond my personal discomfort for the health of our fetus, and on and on.

It is at that moment that I feel something in my head snap. I whip around and say (in the steely way that only exhausted pregnant women can), "You take one."

Scott starts to sputter about how he can't take them, he'll grow breasts, yadda yadda yadda. I start pushing the bottle at him. "Go ahead," I sneer. "Take one."

Scott's eyes start flashing around, looking for an exit, only there is no exit from my maniacal rage, which is still controlled, which probably makes it all the more frightening-- yet I continue to stalk him like Jack Nicholson stalked Wendy in The Shining.

"Come on," I say. "It's only a vitamin." He's backed up against the refrigerator now, and there's nowhere to go. I have him cornered.

"But it's a big vitamin," he stammers.

"Well, you're a big guy. You need all the nutrients you can get. After all, Joshua and our unborn child depend upon you to be healthy. Take the vitamin. Take it." He is quivering now. Apparently, the pills were nothing special when I had to take them, but now that he is being asked to take them, they are too big.

"Actually," I hiss, teeth bared, "you should take these for a couple of days. Maybe a week. You know, get their full benefits."

Surprisingly, he declined. Heh.

Here's my plan:
I will harass Scott into taking the prenatals for an entire week. (I'll wait until the second trimester, though. I don't want him sick while I'm sick.) Then, when he is clutching his stomach and moaning about stomach cramps and begging for saltines, I will bring him crackers without juice...make him beg for the juice...and then I will roll my eyes, sigh, and say, "Do you need anything else?" Victory be mine!

--Trish

Note: Scott lived with me through a previous pregnancy, so he really ought to have known to expect this. In that respect, he had this stalking coming.