All I Want Is A Freakin’ Frosty

It turns out I didn’t need to be worried at all about leaving Baby Evan for a weekend, since not only did he survive without me, I don’t think he even noticed I was gone. As far as he was concerned, I was just at knitting group or the grocery store or upstairs napping for a minute and would probably be right back. It helps that 16 months is too early to have much concept of time. It also helped that he didn’t fall on his head or break any bones or knock out a tooth or accidentally cut off his arm with the hedge trimmers or something else that might require mama hugs.

As I said when I was still debating the trip, I wasn’t worried at all about E’s ability to handle the baby on his own – he’s a great father. Actually, I don’t think that’s a good enough title – a “Great Father” sounds like someone from a 50’s TV sitcom who provides a paycheck and health insurance, plays catch with his kids, and then maybe beats them occasionally, but only with switches thinner than his thumb. And of course when he does, he says “This is going to hurt me a lot more than it hurts you.”

E might do all that (besides the beating thing, obviously)(at least I hope that is obvious)(by which I mean he doesn’t beat us, not that he uses big sticks) but he’s really just a great PARENT. When he’s not at work, he parents equally as much as I do. He does bedtime and bath time on his own every single night. He changes diapers, even the cloth ones I talked him into, and voluntarily uses them when I’m not here to remind him. He can feed and dress and comfort Baby Evan as needed. He can take the kid to the grocery store or the hardware store or the electronics store and not be baffled by car seat straps and diaper bags and shopping carts and strollers. There is no bumbling or fumbling or oh-silly-man-pretending-to-be-a-mom pitying glances from strangers. And as Baby Evan turns more and more into Little Person You Can Actually Interact With Evan, E gets better and better at parenting.

(As I write this, my boys are actually missing. I think they went to Hartford to buy roller blades but the last time I saw them, E picked the baby up from the ultrasound appointment and just left. I came home to a silent, wonderfully empty house.)

That being said…you know what E is NOT good at?  Being pregnant. I mean, my being pregnant. He’d probably be terrible at being pregnant too, but unfortunately science isn’t able to provide that joyous experience to men so we’ll never know. I expect it would go something like this:

Wah, I feel nauseous! Wah, my feet hurt! Wah, I’m hungry! No I don’t want THAT to eat, I want something else. I don’t know what. But I need it NOW! Wah, I have Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction* and it hurts to do everything so I’m going to just lie here on the couch for the next 5 months! Wah wah wah!

No offense to E. I think ALL dudes would suck at pregnancy.

I just think it would be nice if E even NOTICED my delicate condition. When I flop down on the couch and say “Oh man my feet hurt” he says “Why?” When it’s 9 pm and I say “I’m going to bed” he says “Why?”  When I say “Honey, it’s too hot to cook and I don’t feel like having chicken tonight anyways” he says “Why?” When I say “Man, I’m really in the mood for a Frosty, any chance you want to go get me one?” He says “Why?” or more accurately, “No frickin’ way. Your legs aren’t broken.”  He’s never read a pregnancy book, not even the special chapter in the Girlfriend’s Guide I bookmarked for him and left totally inconspicuously on his pillow. And then in the bathroom. And then on top of his computer. And then literally hit him over the head with. As far as I know, everything he’s learned about pregnancy at all has been from reading my blog.** He doesn’t make a point to take off work for my (admittedly boring) OB visits, but he also doesn’t make a point of attending ANY of my appointments, including the one yesterday where there was a teeny tiny chance the tech would say something scary and turn the monitor away and I would end up alone in an office while the doctor said horrible things like “abnormal” and “physical defect”.***

Maybe I expect too much. Maybe I’ve internalized those commercials where some dude gets up at 3 am and drives all over town to find just the right flavor of chocolate fudgey mint chip ice cream for his pregnant wife. Maybe that – GASP! – doesn’t happen in real life. And I KNOW taking time off of work isn’t exactly easy when the U.S. Government literally owns your ass. Plus I need him to save those off days for things like getting my teeth cleaned and, oh I don’t know, GIVING BIRTH. I’m not expecting constant foot rubs or being waited on hand and foot or a surprise maid service to come in and scrub my floors.

But it would be nice, every once in a while, if someone would just go get me a Frosty.

*I have it. I had SPD last time too, but not this early, so I have no idea just how bad it’s going to get. I also didn’t know what it was called, although shockingly knowing what it’s called in NO WAY makes it hurt less.

**Which might be part of the problem – he often forgets that reading something on my site and then talking about it with guys at work is NOT THE SAME as having a conversation with me. The same way my blog-less friends often forget to call and chat because, duh, they already KNOW how I’m doing.

***The doctor actually said “I don’t know why you’re here” and “I’m sure your office saw something they questioned, but I don’t see anything worth following up.” And to be fair, before E took the baby away the tech did say “It all looks good, nothing serious, the doctor just wants to take a look.”

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9 Responses to “All I Want Is A Freakin’ Frosty”

  1. lalaland13 says:

    I don’t know if any person, male or female, is good at being pregnant. I mean, it has its moments, like the one at the end where you get a person out of the deal, but it’s exhausting and stressful. My mom claims she missed being pregnant after she gave birth, but I think she’s being nice, because she also had to go into the hospital with me at four months because she couldn’t keep any food down.

    I keep mentioning my mom in these posts, huh. Anyway, I think I was trying to make you feel better, but it may have done the opposite. At least E is good at parenting rather than pregnancy? I know plenty of men who are crap at both. And I would get you a Frosty, but it might melt by the time 20 hours northeast.

  2. Kim says:

    I have the opposite issue- he’s read the books, gone to the appointments, & brought me fudge sundaes from mcdonalds, but the dad stuff still seems like a mystery to my hubby. In no way am I saying hubby is a bad dad- just clueless. Just today he gave JD a sippy cup without putting the bottom 2 straw pieces in (and totally didn’t notice that the kid was pissed off) & acknowledged that he has no idea how the straps on the stroller work. There is no way I could leave him for a weekend without the babysitter coming to stay. The last time he watched JD while I ran to the store, he honestly said, “wait- is it nap time? What do I do?” he spends a lot of time playing with JD, and JD lights up when he sees him, but he has absolutely no understanding of what I do all day because he would never even feel comfortable trying to take JD out solo. Now that I think of it, he never has. Although I understand your feelings, I hope it makes you feel better to know you’ll have a co-parent forever :)

  3. Carrie says:

    I winced when I read SPD because I remember all too well what that felt like. Ouch. I hope it doesn’t last the rest of your pregnancy.

    Do you like the chocolate or vanilla frostys? They were out of chocolate the last time I wanted one so I had vanilla and was super pleasantly surprised. Just saying. :)

  4. Barbra says:

    I’m glad to hear my husband isn’t the only one. I’m 27 weeks and he has not read one word of a pregnancy or baby book. It doesn’t help that he is the oldest of seven so he considers himself an “expert” on pregnancy. Even though his youngest sibling is 18yrs old and chris was 12 when his mom was pregnant with the youngest. He doesn’t rub lotion on my belly or ask me how i’m feeling every five minutes or stare in awe when the baby moves. I don’t think he understands that it is different when you wife is pregnant as opposed to your mother. I sometimes get frustrated with that and I’ve said some really mean things like “I don’t think you’re as excited about the baby” or “why don’t you care that I’m pregnant”. of course, it’s totally unfair and not true because he is an awesome husband. He is our family cook and makes me dinner every single night, and packs me a lunch every day. He sometimes bring me little surprises at work, he gives backrubs for “free” and I could go on and on. I know he loves me and our baby but i’m afraid my preggo hormones can’t always see that.

  5. MKP says:

    1. Vanilla frostys are baloney. Honestly. Trust.

    2. I want to be all Ray Rah Team Suzanna FTW… but I also wanted to ask what you say when he says “why?”… because just like reading it on your blog and talking about it at work isn’t a convo with you, neither is telling us about it as opposed to calling it live as it happens. I hope this comment doesn’t read as unsupportive – if I lived near you, you’d have a frosty sitting on your porch in a cooler right now, with probably some fries in a bag (outside the cooler, obvi)….Because being pregnant seems really HARD and dudes may well need to be reminded it’s not like a 20-minute 3-day-interval like on The Sims.

    I definitely have a tendency to address stuff with primarily myself and my audience on my f-locked blog and then I wonder why my relationship with my mom never improves.

    • brigidkeely says:

      Yeah, this.

      I had to pretty explicitly tell my husband to his face just how crap I was feeling and how difficult it was to do things like take more than 5 steps or lift my feet high enough to do stairs or keep my eyes open for longer than 6 hours a day. He just didn’t know. And he TOTALLY read the books and watched child birthin’ movies with me and stuff. He just didn’t make the connection. Once he did, though, he started really picking up the slack and bringing me onion rings and chocolate shakes, and washing the dishes, and doing everything that I needed him to do so I wouldn’t, you know, die of death.

  6. Cole says:

    Are you married to Daddy? He was the same way! I hope you get your Frosty. :)

  7. I want men to have to be pregnant… to understand what it feels like to be nauseous and tired all day… to be hungry but not know what you want. And actually, I think I want them to have to experience this, but somehow I feel certain it would be us that would continue to suffer through their constant whining.

    Maybe he will read this post and bring you home a Frosty. (And if you decide by then that you don’t want a Frosty, you can send it my way.)

  8. I think that The Lady & The Tramp ruined it for us. Remember when Jim Dear got up in the middle of the night in the snowstorm to go to the store to get ice cream and watermelon for Darling before she had the wee babe?
    Well, Jim Dear doesn’t exist. Just like that asshole Prince Charming.

    PS – Also, real couples don’t call each other Dear & Darling.
    PPS – I have a thing for Disney.

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