Thank heaven...
Nathan has been doing most of the cooking since I’ve been pregnant, but last night was a tag team effort. He made soup and I made sandwiches. Grilled cheese sandwiches to be exact.
I grilled a sandwich for Nathan first and put it on a plate behind me. I let him know his sandwich was done and started to make my own. Not two minutes later I turned back around and noticed an empty plate with crumbs where his sandwich had been sitting.
“Where’s your sandwich?” I asked.
“On the couch,” he said.
I craned my neck. Sure enough, there was the freshly grilled sandwich sitting on the couch. No napkin. No plate. Just the sandwich. On the couch.
I yelled at him as only a wife can yell at her husband. “What the hell is wrong with you? I put that on a plate for a reason!”
He sheepishly took his plate over to the couch and placed the sandwich on it without a word.
And I once again thanked God that I’m going to have a girl.
It’s easy for me to make light of the silly things Nathan does because he makes up for them in spades. For every grilled cheese sandwich incident, he redeems himself by doing things like:
Making dinner.
Taping the last 20 minutes of “Law and Order” for me when he sees I’m starting to fall asleep.
Putting the laundry in the dryer after I fall asleep so that I have dry pants to wear to work the next day.
Not getting on my case about neglecting the dirty dishes after I promised two days in a row that I’d do them and he knows I wouldn’t be as nice to him if he didn’t do them.
And these are just the things he did for me last night. Just one night in however many nights we’ve been together. I always knew I’d be a pain in the ass if I got pregnant and I’ve pretty much lived up to my prediction. Nathan hasn’t complained much though. I tend to forget that he suffers even though he’s not the one carrying the child. After all, he’s had to put up with me.
I’m a very lucky woman.
I grilled a sandwich for Nathan first and put it on a plate behind me. I let him know his sandwich was done and started to make my own. Not two minutes later I turned back around and noticed an empty plate with crumbs where his sandwich had been sitting.
“Where’s your sandwich?” I asked.
“On the couch,” he said.
I craned my neck. Sure enough, there was the freshly grilled sandwich sitting on the couch. No napkin. No plate. Just the sandwich. On the couch.
I yelled at him as only a wife can yell at her husband. “What the hell is wrong with you? I put that on a plate for a reason!”
He sheepishly took his plate over to the couch and placed the sandwich on it without a word.
And I once again thanked God that I’m going to have a girl.
It’s easy for me to make light of the silly things Nathan does because he makes up for them in spades. For every grilled cheese sandwich incident, he redeems himself by doing things like:
Making dinner.
Taping the last 20 minutes of “Law and Order” for me when he sees I’m starting to fall asleep.
Putting the laundry in the dryer after I fall asleep so that I have dry pants to wear to work the next day.
Not getting on my case about neglecting the dirty dishes after I promised two days in a row that I’d do them and he knows I wouldn’t be as nice to him if he didn’t do them.
And these are just the things he did for me last night. Just one night in however many nights we’ve been together. I always knew I’d be a pain in the ass if I got pregnant and I’ve pretty much lived up to my prediction. Nathan hasn’t complained much though. I tend to forget that he suffers even though he’s not the one carrying the child. After all, he’s had to put up with me.
I’m a very lucky woman.
