The other day I was lying on the bed staring out the window blankly when Eric suddenly laughed at me and asked, "Are you alright? You look like a big, dead whale!"
At first I glared at him menacingly, "You shouldn't call the mother of your child a big, dead whale!"
"But you do. The only thing that's missing is the drool coming from the corner of your mouth," he protested.
Lucky for Eric, I was in a forgiving mood and I started laughing too. I'm pretty sure he was right; I did, in fact, look like a big, dead whale as I lay sprawled on the bed with my mouth hanging open and my belly hanging out. From there, our conversation went into an analysis of my bed drooling habit which I hadn't been aware that he'd been aware of. He also let me know that I've recently started snoring...very loudly!
Until this point in our relationship, Eric and I have managed to keep things very...polite. We don't make fart jokes; and if one of us should accidentally let one slip, we politely pretend not to have heard it. It's like a Jane Austen novel really.
His dirty underwear always goes straight into his hamper, and since we do our own laundry, I never see it. While my dirty underwear rarely makes it straight to the hamper without a pit stop on the bedroom floor first, I at least tuck it under the piles of other dirty clothes so that it's not just lying out in the open. See, Ms. Austen? Very polite indeed.
But ahhh, the joy and intimacy that pregnancy brings! The regime of flatulence denial has started to crumble bit by bit as our little baby wreaks havoc on my body. In it's place is a newer, freer, and much grosser world.
For Example, a few months ago I announced, "Eww, I just threw up in my mouth a little bit."
Eric was absolutely horrified. He had never heard of such a thing happening.
"No," I tried to explain, "It's not like I have a pile of vomit in my mouth. But you know, just out of nowhere you taste throw-up for a second and then it goes away? Like just a little piece? It's normal! That's never happened to you!?"
He continued to be horrified, "No! And that is definitely not normal."
I was so determined to let him see that it was common that every time it happened over the next few weeks (which is a lot more often than you'd think when you're pregnant) I made it known to him. "I just threw up in my mouth a little bit again! See, it's normal! It happens all the time!"
"Did you ever consider?" he asked, "That you're the only one this happens to. Maybe you should get that checked out."
To test his hypothesis, I asked a trusted friend if she ever threw up a little bit in her mouth. She knew exactly what I was talking about. I was both relieved and vindicated when I told Eric that he was the abnormal one.
A week or so after that, Eric and I were sitting watching TV when he announced proudly, "Oh, I forgot to tell you! I threw up in my mouth a little bit at rehearsal yesterday!"
"Really!? Hoo-ray!"
By my reaction, you'd have thought he just came home to tell me he won the school spelling bee. I was THAT happy.
Then, there's the fact that I walk around the house pantsless on a very regular basis now. (Don't judge me; it's hot!) It's so hard to be comfortable when you're pregnant that I just don't care if he sees my cellulite and granny panties sitting at the breakfast table anymore. At first, Eric was very confused as to what I had done with my pants. Now, he just looks at me, shakes his head, and laughs to himself.
(NOT what I look like pantsless, P.S.)
Along the same lines, it's become a kind of game to find my gigantic bra lying around the house. I have ONE bra that fits me because apparently my B cup has decided to moonlight as a D cup. (What do women who start at D cups do when they're pregnant???) But, just because it's the one bra that fits me doesn't mean it's comfortable. Off with its head! as soon as I enter the house. Later Eric finds it let's say next to the computer, or in the kitchen, or on the couch, or in the cat's bed. Yesterday he slingshot it at me after finding it under the pillow he was trying to use for a nap.
And I wouldn't be honest if I didn't include the two big doozies; the mother load of TMI with my significant other.
Not too long ago I had to send him to CVS to buy me diarrhea medicine. This was after two days of pure hell. There was no way I could keep that hidden from him.
Then there was the time I came out of the bathroom looking like I had just seen the bloody head of Lady Gaga appear in the mirror. I explained to him that I needed to Google the word hemorrhoids. Immediately.
Yes, pregnancy can indeed be gross and uncomfortable, but who better to share it all with than the one you love?
I like to think that he loves me in spite of all this and hasn't started shopping for a girl who at least wears sexy underwear while going pantsless and who never throws up a little bit in her mouth. (I'm looking at you Gisele.)
Besides, in just two short months he'll see me grosser than I've ever been. Then, we'll have an adorably lovable baby who will probably do grosser things than the two of us combined.
The three of us will live happily ever after in our flatulence-friendly world! Oh how happy we shall be.
I'm pretty impressed you managed to go this long in your relationship before getting into the gross stage...I think Mark and I were already there in month 1. It's only gotten worse in the past 7 years!
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