After a few weeks of almost Spring, winter has of course come out with one last dying gasp. Outside there is what is hopefully the last blanket of snow I will see for a long time. I am ready for some sunshine.
I am also ready for this baby to be out. Pregnancy is a magical time, but it would be just as magical if it were, oh, one or two months shorter. More magical, I submit. Because there is so much I want to do, and I just can't. I am not, not have I ever been, comfortable with the word can't. I'm more than happy to throw the word won't around, but can't? As in, am unable? No, no, no. And right now I can't go more than a few hours without a serious rest. I can't make it through an entire night actually sleeping. I can't fid the energy to clean my house, let alone paint and finish furnishing. I can't do everything.
David is being wonderful, however, at picking up my slack. Over the weekend he surprised me with a trip to the spa for a manicure and pedicure, which felt so good on my swollen feet I almost fell in love with him again. He also routinely carries anything and everything that must be carried, does all the dishes, keeps the house clean, and forces me to lie down and take it easy--albeit a bit more angrily than tenderly--but I suppose I can be a bit stubborn.
Things are better between us. At least they're stable. It's a whole other post to explain the strange dynamics of this the most important and currently most infuriating relationship in my life. Best summed up right now by this little example: The other night we got in a huge fight over the baby's name. For a long time we were hovering around James Kerry for the baby, James for my grandfather and Kerry for David's dad, but even then we were just hovering and couldn't quite attach ourselves to it. Then we get the family phone-chain call that my cousin Marne had finally produced her week-late son... and his name, dear friends, was James Gary. JAMES GARY. Which pretty much cancels out our plans. At first I was pretty upset, but seeing as I was having doubts it may have just been the sign I was looking for. So after much soul searching, I thought I had landed on the perfect name. I shared it with David, who not only point-blank refused, but who laughed in my face. This made me (hormones, people) very angry, and resulted in a large screaming match that went something like this:
Me: You just hate it because I like it!
Him: No, I hate it because it's a stupid American name.
Me: You suggested it originally! You just forgot and now that it's MY idea, you think it's stupid! Because you hate everything I like!
Him: This is because you have horrible taste!
(Unintelligible screaming, declarations of "you poop on everything I love" and "we're so incompatible" and "how can we bring a child into this world", etc)
Me: I wish you weren't so terrible.
Him: I wish you weren't acting like such a cow.
Me: You're calling me a cow now?
Him: No, I said you're acting like a cow.
Suddenly I found myself struggling not to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Struggling, and failing, and then we were both laughing, and he was chasing me around the house saying "come here, I love you," and I was all "(snort) no, I'm still mad (hiccup), I hate you (guffaw)" and the like. Yeah. So that's pretty much us right now.