Hell Hath No Fury Like a Pregnant Woman

Lest my husband, who is a very good man to put up with all my complaining and dramatics, sound anything less than saintly when viewed through the lens of my laptop, I offer the following letter I wrote to my good friend Lauren last spring. If this doesn't make you feel sorry for the poor guy and offer up a prayer for the patient man who lives with me, I don't know what will.

There are three key factors to this letter: (1) I was pregnant, (2) Scott made a minor faux pas in pregnant-wife ettiquette, (3) once again, I was pregnant. I am of the opinion that pregnancy puts women (okay, ME) in a state of dementia and that anything a woman (okay, ME) does or says while pregnant should be sticken from the record of her life. In short, pregnant women (TRISH) should not be held accountable for anything they (I) do.

This post is a bit lengthy, so I'll present it in two installments. You'll be weeping for Scott by the end of the first one.

Lauren,
My life is spinning rapidly out of control…just like my waist line. Further, everything-- and I do mean everything-- Scott does annoys me. This is strange because we are so compatible and for the past SIXTEEN YEARS he has not annoyed me….until now. Pregnancy hormones? Probably.

I will tell you about it, but you must promise not to breathe a word of what I tell you to my significant other. (If Scott finds out, he will argue that this story is completely one-sided...which it is. However, I'm the one telling the story, and I'm going to tell it my way-- the way that makes me look wonderful and Scott look like a callous wretch. In short, I will tell the story the way that gets me sympathy because, in my weakened, pregnant state, I crave sympathy.)

Here's the background:
I've been nauseous and tired and, frankly, my bowels have turned to stone for weeks, and it's getting pretty old. (My doctor said that this is probably due to the iron content in the prenatal vitamins. Remember this: it's important for later in the story.) It's probably because of this discomfort that everything Scott does annoys me. Well, everything doesn't annoy me, per se, but I'm very sensitive to the "belabored husband eye roll." (This is the eye roll that men use when they think their expectant wives are complaining of their pregnancy ills too much-- as if there could even BE too much complaining by a pregnant woman! Honestly, if a pregnant woman complained all day, every day, she'd still not have met her pregnancy complaining quota.) Yes, it is true that I haven't cleaned the bathrooms in two weeks (the smell of cleanser is enough to make me vomit up my intestine). True, I haven't done laundry (None of my clothes fit-- why wash 'em??). Yes, I've come home and slept (in my coat) on the chair right inside the front door (I am growing a human being inside me. This takes a lot of effort. I should get points for sleeping inside the door and not out on the lawn.). So, in Scott's defense he has been doing more than his usual share of house/parenting duties. BUT I did not think of this when I lashed out at him yesterday. And lash out I did, indeed....

(Installment #2 to follow tomorrow. I know, I know...you are already shaking your head and making that "tut tut" noise with your tongue as you wonder how the poor guy lived through the next two trimesters. I weep for the man.)