When I was pregnant my Big Man was there for everything. I mean it—he never even missed an appointment with the OB. Now I can honestly say that we have truly shared everything.
The first trip was a …well, it was a trip. I was so nervous. This was something I’d obviously always done alone. The whole gyno thing is personal. I said, “You know they’re going to examine me, right? Stirrups and all.” He said he was prepared, so we made our first appointment.
Big Man hates being late for anything and his first visit to the OB/GYN was no exception. As I am always late, he grabbed my purse and began herding me towards the door. I got nearly to the car and then turned and ran back into the bathroom.
Worried about his pregnant wife and nervous about the whole thing, he hurried in to check on me. He pushed the bathroom door open to find me sitting on the counter over my pregnant belly with both feet in the sink, suddsed-up with bubbles to my ankles. “What are you doing?”
“I’m washing my feet!”
No response.
I huffed, exasperated, “When you put your feet up in those furry stirrup things, your feet are right there and I don’t want him to think I have stinky feet.”
No response.
“I told you. You just don’t understand.”