So, after we had Sophie, Bill was looking at my stomach one day, as I was lamenting my many stretch marks. His response to my groans of self-pity?
"You look like post-war Europe."
Of course, my response was to look at him, mouth agape.
He continued, "I mean, it's still pretty, it's Europe."
I grumbled as I walked away, "Not as pretty as pre-war Europe."
So, today, Bill was looking at my stomach, swollen and exposed after four bowls of cereal, and covered in those "little red bumps".
And, he said, "If you get more stretch marks this time, I am going to start calling you "Desert Storm".
Hmmm. Whatever. He is also the same man who, right now at 5:43 PM, is half asleep on the couch under his special "blankie" (which we have affectionately named O.B.B., standing for Oppressive Black Blanket, due to its obvious color, and a heaviness unmatched by lead or titanium). He is splayed out like a butterflied shrimp, and in his almost sleeping voice, he is singing "Let's Hear it For the Boys". Now, he is hugging the cat. Should I really take him seriously?
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2 comments:
I love a man who knows and sings good eighties music! Let's hear it for Bill!
I think there is an unstated rule that if anyone makes fun of a pregnant woman, that woman may use physical violence to make herself feel better. At least he is creative with his fun- making.
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