The Heat Has Gotten to Me

Let me start by saying The Saint, though she hates that I am calling her that, was an apropos pseudonym for my partner. I heard stories from friends and family about what to expect from pregnant women: raging hormones, wild mood swings, whacky cravings, bizarre bodily mishaps, etc. But The Saint has been a real trooper throughout.

For the most part.

Of course, there have been a few tiny bumps along the way, most notably the ones that just appeared all over her belly, legs and arms the past few days and itch like crazy. Here are a few of my favorite episodes:

Shortly after Christmas, and very early into the pregnancy, The Saint's sister-in-law posted on her Facebook wall that the kids LOVED the Zhu Zhu pets The Saint bought for them, referring to them as "kiddy crack." This triggered a waterfall of tears from The Saint. Confused, I gently asked (because I am not stupid and know better than to laugh, mock or freak out) what was wrong. Her response? "I almost didn't buy them and am just so glad that I did because they like them so much...." And that was all I understood.

This was almost as funny as watching the U.S. women's soccer team play Brazil in the World Cup quarterfinals. I am not allowed, under the strictest orders from The Saint, to reprint what was said during the game. Let's just say that if a sailor and one of the Osbornes had a child who was now an adult, he/she would have blushed at the string of profanities that came out of The Saint's mouth that day. The halo needed quite a bit of polishing after that game.

Of course, that episode was definitely more funny than what is now known as "The Capri Pants" episode. Several months ago, The Saint woke up around 1:30 am in a MOOD. For whatever reason, she realized that I had not gotten to the laundry that day, probably because I overbooked and was trying to keep up with 8 million other things. But in the laundry, crumpled at the bottom of what she thought was a teeming, stinky heap, lay her magical Capri pants. And these pants were truly magical because no other pants would suffice. This realization triggered an onslaught of bitter, angry tears and I was transformed into the evil hellhound who stood between her and those pants. So at 1:45 am, I did what any sane person would do: I did laundry. By the time she woke up, the magical Capri pants were clean, dry and pressed. The only thing crumpled in a heap was an exhausted me.

But today took the cake. As I mentioned earlier, The Saint has a terribly itchy rash. This requires lots and lots of lotion, at various states of undress and at some inconvenient times. Sadly, The Saint cannot reach all the places that require lotion, which is not a big deal as I am more than happy to help. But The Saint still has her dignity and there are times where she does not want my help, like when she has had a meal that did not quite agree with her. And this is what happened today. She disappeared into the bathroom for what seemed like an awfully long time. Suddenly, I heard a bang and ran to her. As I approached, she let out a frenzied warning: DON'T COME IN HERE!!! IT SMELLS LIKE POOP AND COCOA BUTTER!!!!

And that, my friends, is a good way to sum up this pregnancy: a little poop and a lot of cocoa butter....

This installment of The 2nd Mommy was brought to you by The Saint's Catholic guilt. Catholic Guilt: the feeling that keeps you permanently grounded, whether you need it or not.


- The 2nd Mommy