If the internet is to be believed, my job as the husband of a pregnant lady is to make kissy faces at my wife’s belly in creepy maternity pictures and to look terrified as she goes through labor. Since neither of us is willing to do the first, I’ve taken it upon myself to fill that void with another pregnancy husband duty. I’ve decided to try being supportive of my wife. Because, you know, I’m a modern man of America or something like that.
And I’ve failed.
I haven’t failed because I’ve just been a totally unsupportive jerk all the time. That’s just an every-once-in-a-while thing. No, I’ve failed because I might be overly supportive of too much stuff. That sounds stupid, but I’ll explain.
Karli tells me all the time that she wants to make sure we’re eating healthy while Squatch is cooking. On our Grocery Trip of Doom, most of the items that got put into the cart were of the healthy variety. So she’s doing her part, and I’m supportive of it.
The failure part comes when she really, really feels like going somewhere like Sonic, and I—being the supportive husband that I am—head off there to get something. Because this is my pregnant wife, and damn it, if she wants a corndog, I’m getting her a corndog. Also, I like Sonic, too, so there’s that…
So I keep backing her up, no matter what, even if what I’m backing up now contradicts what I was backing up before—exercising or cleaning the nursery or whatever else I told her I’d help with. I just agree with whatever she says at the moment. I suck at this. Worst. Ever.