There are a whole lot of advice and products out there to help women survive handle pregnancy. With good reason! Pregnancy can be real tough. I’ve learned that no two pregnant women cope the same, some things work – some just do not ($60 later and a huge pregnancy pillow that just gets kicked to the floor, and those ginger candies that made me gag). So let me just cut to the chase and give you my number one pregnancy tip. Marry my husband.
Erik stood outside the bathroom door with a glass of water waiting for when I finished throwing up. He made me eggs when I could not get out of bed, but knew if I didn’t eat I would hurl again. Erik recooked the eggs when they were too soggy for me to swallow.
Erik told me I would be a good mom. Even when I was convinced at 12 days pregnant that I would not. Because: hormones.
Erik held me in his arms all the times I tearfully told him the anxiety was too much to bear, and that I couldn’t make it through one more day. He told me that I could.
Erik changed his chore load from 50% to 90%. Including making enough dinner to last the week on Sundays, so all I had to do was stick a bowl in the microwave and call it a night. On the (very few) times I expressed guilt that he was taking on so much, he would remind me we were a team.
My husband gave me months of foot rubs and back rubs.
My husband stayed up half the night with me when the insomnia kicked in. He read me stories to try to help me doze off. He told me it was still early, when it never was. He held me when I cried from that panic one gets when they completely forget how to sleep.
Erik introduced me to so many flavors of Haagen Daz ice-cream.
My husband spent every night of the last trimester staring at my belly with me, waiting for kicks and tumbles. He humored me and woke up at 6am on a Wednesday to feel baby’s first case of hiccups.
Erik learned lullabies, and sang them to baby so she would know his voice when she was born.
My husband woke up hours earlier than usual on Saturdays because, “Baby needs diner waffles, NOW!”
Erik spent months clearing out closets and shelves and moving around furniture, all from my couchside directives. Because: nesting.
Erik whispers, “How are you doing, my darling daughter?” to my belly.
My husband sat me down and told me he worries about postpartum depression, and asked me to be sure to talk to both my ob and therapist about it.
My husband went to five intensive birthing and newborn classes with me. He, on his own accord, bought The Birthing Partner, and read it cover to cover. Erik now knows more birth-related medical terms than I can keep up with.
Erik bought me a birthing ball to bounce on, and practiced pain management back rubs while we watched TV.
On the occasions when I felt particularly sorry for myself and asked, “Erik, do you still love me?” He would say, “Yes. You are my whole world.”
My husband put together a crib, bassinet, and three additional types of swings and bouncers.
Erik told me I was cute well past the cute pregnancy stage had passed.
Erik packed our hospital bag. Erik did not drink the coconut waters waiting in our fridge for baby day.
My husband timed contractions on and off for seven days of pre-labor (and counting).
I don’t know if my husband has taken anything as seriously and enthusiastically as preparing for this little life on its way, who is about to shake up our world. I have seen few things give him as much joy, either. This pregnancy has required a stamina like I have never known. It’s hard to imagine this season without my husband by my side.
Erik, happy first Father’s Day to you. You make Mia and me the two luckiest girls in the world.
We love you, we love you, we love you.