The Last of Winnie

Today was likely our last appointment at Winnie Palmer Hospital. These had been monthly, and certainly there won't be much to see with an ultrasound in mid-July. (As, according to the latest prognosis, all the hype and anticipation will end before July 3). Today's weigh-in revealed an estimated 5.8 and 5.4 pound pair of packages, with a margin of error of 3/4 of a pound. Limbs are still intact, heartbeats loud and quick, and head scans reveal a mini mop-top on both A and B.

So...from this point on we see Dr. C. weekly, until the day we make a mad dash back to Winnie and get this thing over with. Maybe Kelly's been carrying around an extra 45 pounds for a few weeks; but I've been saddled with the stressful responsibilities of being there for her every single day. Every single day! Who can carry that kind of pressure for three-quarters of the year? And I'm supposed to rearrange my schedule to find time to install two (right, not just one) car seats, and then, check them for a tight fit! We men get no credit for the harrowing ordeal of our role as pregnancy assistant. All the magazines and Discovery Health shows focus on the mom, the "big hero," the "giver of life." When is there going to be recognition of the impact of pregnancy on a man's life? When she can't sleep, he hears about it the next day. When she's in pain, he has to massage. When she vomits profusely the first 12 weeks, he has to close the bathroom door to avoid disturbing the pets. When she's too big to fit behind the steering wheel, he has to pause the game, put on his shoes, and shuffle out into the rain to drive her. When she no longer fits into any of her clothes, he has to ruin half a Sunday at the mall. When she's strapped into the delivery table or half numb during a C-section and furiously breathing and grabbing his hand, he has to sweat the whole ordeal, trying to recall if the Lamaze lady instructed three long breaths plus one short, or a continuous steady set of long slow ones. And, after it's all done with, and everyone is back home, who has to awake every two hours to change diapers? Him! Not her; she's already been up.