The joys of pregnancy and motherhood continue for my wife. My sister-in-law invited us out to dinner at Don Jose’s (a local Mexican food place here in Sebring). We had been cooped up in the house for most of the day because it had been raining pretty hard all afternoon, so we decided we should definitely get out. My wife took the opportunity to get dressed up with makeup and hair. She doesn’t often feel like doing that when she feels like poo all the time. She looked good, too.
It was pouring out, so we quickly darted to the care and hopped. As the doors slammed shut I turned to see my wife’s eyes as wide as the dinner plates we were about to eat off of. “It’s the smell isn’t it?” I asked (she has that super pregnant sense of smell going right now). My answer was simply my wife leaning out the open car door, getting soaked by the down pour, leaving a pile of peanut butter Captain Crunch on the drive way (the whole while I am asking stupid, unhelpful questions like, “Is there anything I can do?” in classic helpless husband fashion). I thought we might not be going to dinner, but I was wrong. Sara made it clear that we were eating at Don Jose’s. So after a quick stop halfway down the driveway and another pile of Captain Crunch to hose down later, we were off.
At Don Jose’s I figured my wife would probably take it easy on here stomach, but instead she took advantage of all the extra room she created. After two baskets of chips, a plate of chile rellenos, and some flan she was finally full. I anticipated some trouble later, but she was fine all night.
Just another reminder that pregnancy, like the rest of marriage, is something I will never understand.
