In the kitchen, my wife and I are both in pajamas. She’s making a grilled cheese sandwich and I’m reheating Lasagna. Nothing special, it’s Saturday night and we are both enjoying the night in.
She’s wearing my Virginia sweatshirt and it stirs a memory from our dating days. It was a different kitchen and different circumstances, but the same sweatshirt. It was a Saturday night and our relationship was new and promising. Good friends were visiting and we were enjoying drinks, conversation and most of all, each other’s company. The sparks were flying as it was the start of a budding romance that was destined to change both of our lives forever.
Today, the sweatshirt is a little tighter as her belly has swelled to accommodate our son. Soon he will be here and I’ll look back and remember these little moments of passing in the kitchen. I smile at my wife with a twinkle in my eye, the memory still fresh in my mind as I’m about to tell her how lucky I feel. We have come so far together and I look forward to what the future holds. I lean over to kiss her on the cheek when……she passes gas.
She’s unashamed and indifferent to the shocked look on my face. She’s reached the point of no return; the point when caring has long since ceased to exist. If I have a problem with it I'd better get over it quickly. This is a woman fully engulfed in the dog days of pregnancy. Her wrists hurt and her back aches. Her feet are swollen gobs of puffiness and she has to pee yet again, so if I want to romanticize things I will just have to use my imagination.