It's been a while since I've posted on our baby blog, much to the disappointment of my better half-- that sacred vessel of life, holder of mystery, sacrificial host of divine creation, my little wifey. (I guess she counts as more than half at this point?) I just wasn't sure what to write about. After all, I'm not the one whose belly has swollen to Ethiopian proportions. I'm on the outside of this thing, bearing witness to it all. Yeah, I attend the birthing classes, read the pop-parenting books which tell me how I'm pregnant too, etc., but the fact is, the only big thing in my belly is last night's double-double hamburger and animal-style fries.
And while the wonderful reality of a 3rd party in our family has indeed hit home since I first heard her heartbeat and daily feel her Bruce Lee kicks and punches, "pregnancy" remains a little abstract. I think 99% of this is because Maren has made it so easy for me. I've heard about pregnant mothers wreaking vengeance on the fathers for what they've "done" to them, and I expected to have lost all dignity and most of my hair by now (maybe that'll come when our little girl becomes a teenager...). I assumed I'd be nothing more than an attending slave to a hyper-needy fatty (i.e., Brittney Spears personal assistant). But not my wifey. For the most part, she makes this pregnancy thing seem like a moderate hike. She (literally) pulls her own weight, as well as the many other "weights" in our lives: business, community, r.v. travel, me. Maren is truly amazing. Our baby is one lucky baby. And I'm the lucky paterfamilias.