Hot and bothered.

It is important that I preface this post by saying the my husband is a great support in this pregnancy.
He has truly been there by my side for everything from the very beginning.
He brought me toast in the first months as my morning sickness could be curbed with this small snack at dawn.
Later, he rearranged his schedule so he could be at all my appointments.
He has rubbed my aching feet more times than I can count.
Most importantly, he's been my emotional pillar even when I'm a raving, hormonal loon (and my emotional meltdowns aren't exactly rare).

All that being said, he will never understand what it is like to be pregnant.
Now, I'm not picking on him. No man ever can. And that's not sexist, it is just science.
Lucky for them, we talk enough about it that they can live it vicariously.
I think he has the rougher deal though to be completely truthful. I'd rather be pregnant than have to deal with a pregnant wife.
He's a saint.

So here is why this is on my mind,
I woke up this morning sweating like a hog. I pushed the covers away and flopped around in the sea of pillows I need to get any amount of decent sleep. I heaved myself into a sitting position and slowly stood up--what a major process to just get out of bed.
Like any pregnant woman would do, I headed straight for the bathroom since my bladder is now only allowed about a thimble-sized space--Amelia is a bit greedy with the space but we still love her. ;)
Still feeling rather hot, I look at the thermostat to find that my dear husband has turned it off.
It may not matter to any normal person, but this is a cardinal sin against a woman who is great with child.
(Let me remind you of the opening of this post-- He's a dear.)
This is just one of the many things he's unaware of and doesn't consider since he is not, nor ever will be, pregnant.

My favorite example was when we had finished a long shopping trip to the ever-lovely Target and I was tired --I had been on my feet all day at work. The overwhelming heat of the parking lot hit me as soon as the automatic doors opened. I spotted the car and mentioned that he could go get the car and pick me up at the entrance. Thinking of my health, I'm sure, he replies, "The walking is good for you." I could have slugged him right there in front of God and everybody.

I should really be grateful, I guess, for the way in which he looks out for my best interest rather than my comfort but, its just funny how he can't really understand how everything hurts in a new way.
I'm not just tired at the end of my workday.
I'm dead tired.
I never understood that phrase in it's truest meaning until this juncture in my life.
Now if only I could get him to understand it.
I'll just put him on the midnight shift once Amelia arrives. ;)