I love my husband. But sometimes men just don't get it--especially when they have a pregnant woman on their hands.
I was given a large bag full of free baby samples. I had as many baby magazines and prenatal vitamins my heart could ever desire. Because this complimentary gift bag was given to me late in my pregnancy I didn't need much of it and because I try to keep our place clean I thought I could sort through it and get rid of some of clutter. Really, this was a BIG bag of stuff. In the midst of all the junk I came across a small Huggies box. I opened it and gasped at the cute newborn diaper that had been placed delicately inside. I removed the diaper and held it in my hands.
pregnancy you think a lot about that baby that is moving and kicking around inside of you. You wonder how the baby is doing and if it will come out healthy, and you wonder how in the world you will learn to take care of such a small innocent thing. I took the diaper and cradled in my hands and thought about all of this. This diaper was a keeper. I could toss out much of what was in the gift bag but not this. I placed it gently in the "keep pile".Then Brian walked in. I was sitting in a large pile of baby stuff on the floor. He flopped on to the couch--right next to the keep pile. I looked up. I smiled tenderly at him, still full of baby diaper thoughts. The diaper had given me an excited feeling...yes the baby was coming soon. I watched as Brian picked up and examined my diaper. "Good" I thought. "He is getting excited and having the same baby thoughts that I have just had. Look at what a good father he will be." For surely Brian was as emotionally tied to the diaper as I was. Surely he saw how it represented our firstborn child. I got back to work sorting through the pile. When I looked back up at Brian something had gone terribly wrong. To my horror, my husband was spitting in my newborn Pooh Bear-delicate-organic cotton-diaper! AHHHHH! What was he thinking? What was he doing? I let out a cry. I snatched the diaper from his hands. I felt the inside to see how corrupted it was. I realized that a little spit could dry and it was still usable. I was still boggled at what odd infatuation Brian had with spitting in it. I looked at him. I was brooding and I felt hostile. He could see the tears in my eyes. "I was testing the wetness indicator" he said innocently. Hmph. Apparently he wasn't thinking at all about our precious baby boy when he was examining the diaper. Of course, he was just seeing how it all worked. That seems to be what men like to do. I tossed the diaper back in to the keep pile and continued to sniffle. Then, as if it dawned on him, Brian saw the Pooh Bear characters on the diaper. He knows how much I like Pooh. So he proceeded to rip the organic cotton Pooh characters front off of the diaper to save for me and threw the rest of it away. Oh my gosh. He was insane! This time I sobbed and sobbed. The diaper had been destroyed. Tortured. Mutilated. By my own husband at that! How could I ever trust him with my child?
Poor Brian. Poor, poor Brian. He had no idea what had just happened. He thought he had done such a good thing. I looked at the ruined diaper and back at Brian's concerned face and I couldn't help but laugh. I was hysterical. I was roaring with laughter and trying to mourn my diaper all at once. It dawned on me that perhaps Brian was not the insane one in the room.
And finally, before we went to bed that night, Brian tossed something at me. It was a whole pack of Huggies newborn-Pooh Bear-organic cotton-diapers.
