But silly me, life doesn't want me to relax. No, life wants me to push back my shirt sleeves and go at it even more gang busters. How do I know this? Because right after Chuck stopped moaning about his kidney stone, he broke his ankle.
I swear, the man is trying to kill me. I mean, I knew I wouldn't be sitting on the couch eating bon bons with this pregnancy but I at least thought I'd get to sit down and gaze longingly at a bon bon wrapper or two.
Nope. Two weeks later Chuck's ankle is still the size of a grapefruit and he's still moaning about it. Between the pillows elevating his ankle in bed and all the damn pillows I've got wedged into my crevices to prevent night time leg cramps and butt cramps and side cramps, we can't even find each other in the bed.
Yes, sadly, all the moaning we do in bed is from bodily pain and all the searching we do is for more duck feathers, not each other. It's ok though, it really is. This too shall pass. Before we know it, Chuck's ankle will be healed and I'll be bumpless and the proud mother of one of these:
Another bouncing baby boy.
As in three boys.
And then, what will become of all those pillows that aided me and Chuck during our moments of pain? Oh, they'll get used. For forts and trampolines and fights and armor and thwaps on the head and knock-out-surprise-attack-side-swipes.
Because, let's be honest, with three sons we'll basically be raising a litter of puppies.
Chuck, notice I said "we"? We! You're getting up with the baby even if you have to hobble to the changing table dammit!