Two nights ago, as we usually do, Suzy and I were reading in bed after a long day. Then one of those seemingly innocent actions that you don’t even think about when you do it but regret once you’ve done it happened.
I put my hand on my wife’s 7+ months pregnant stomach.
Shortly after my act of stupidity, the obvious reaction occurred; the baby kicked/punched/elbowed/whatevered my hand in a blatant communication of, “Hey, just exactly who/what do you think you are?... gettin’ all up in my grill like this!”
I flipped out. I mean my heebies were in full-on jeebie. Somehow I had forgotten how (...searching in vain for a non-derogatory adjective...) "different/interesting" that feels.
In my defense, I tell myself that everyone has at least one or sometimes several things that give them the willies. By willies I mean to say an involuntary response where you run/roll around in circles flailing anything that can be flailed in a vain attempt to scratch the itchy insides of your joints and alleviate the mental and emotional cringing.
Anyone who has seen me near the hideously frozen plastic of an otter pop knows the willies of which I speak.
So my wife, who as we are aware is a veteran of, shall we say, “the more significant physical realities of pregnancy”, is staring at me through all this with a look of love, respect and admiration for my sensitivity.
Actually it was more of a, “You have GOT to be kidding me” look.
Grasping for a way to help her understand the fullest extent of my sceeved-out-ed-ness, I should have told her that while she has been developing a connection to this baby and everything it does for the last 7 months, the baby and I really don't start connecting until it starts to forgive me for not being mommy. Until then it's more of a mutual recognition of the other's existence.
Instead of this nonsense or any other seemingly thoughtful response, my brain could only come up with:
“IT WAS LIKE OTTER POPS!!!!!”
So I’ve talked with my attorney and we’re hoping that after a two month suspension and a $50 fine the MAN association will give me my man card back. I’ll be needing it right about then to withstand the tortures of the delivery room.