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Scott's Diary Entries Diary Navigation: Choose A Diary Entry -------------------- Latest Entry: 6/14/00 -------------------- 5/21/00 2/18/00 2/17/00 -------------------- Scott's Introduction

Introduction

WARNING: I'm about to make a statement that is in direct conflict to the "guy code" I was introduced to back when I was about 7 years old:

I think women are tougher and far more resilient than men when you get right down to it.

Sure, we can lift heavy stuff, drive an opponent into the ground on a sports field and get back up, yell louder and deeper and often be more intimidating than women, but when it comes to enduring long-term discomfort and downright pain, most of us probably couldn't hold a candle to our significant others. I'll speak for myself, but my bet is that most guys, if they really thought about it, would agree.

For the last few weeks Laura has been enduring increasingly consistent and intense discomfort. Her back hurts, her sides hurt, her legs hurt, even her bones hurt. She can't sit, stand or lay in one position for any period of time without having to shift ... and shifting is a nightmare in itself. She can't sleep. She's got a person inside of her who kicks her square in the guts without warning and literally takes her breath away. She's unexpectedly thrown off balance whenever he decides to shift positions, which seems to be every five minutes. She's tired and hot. She waddles when she walks. She has outgrown anything -- including her maternity clothes -- that she likes to wear. She can't go anywhere without having every other person gasp in amazement and amusement, "Wow! Look at you! You're REALLY pregnant!" like she's some kind of circus act. (Sidenote: Laura isn't typically very big but our son, we've been told by the doctor, IS. Her stomach is definitely big and I can understand where people would reflexively comment on it.) She has to balance her plate on her stomach because she can't sit close enough to the table to eat from it. She can't dry her own legs after a shower. She's miserable pretty much 24 hours a day.

If that was me, I'd be a complete nightmare to live with. I'd be pissed off, agitated and short-tempered. I'd be thoroughly self-focused and absorbed with nothing but my own suffering. I'd probably tell everyone I had contact with how miserable I was and expect them to feel sorry for me. I'd probably be pulling the martyr act.

But you know what? She's not like that. Not in the least. When she finds herself tossing and turning too much at night (which is now every night), she'll get out of bed so she doesn't wake me up. If I've been working on the house and happen to mention that my back is sore, she's empathetic when she could just as easily tell me to %$#@ off for even having the gall to bring up a sore back. If we need something from the store, she won't wait for me to pick it up after work. She'll waddle out into the heat, into the car and go. If she mentions she's uncomfortable and in pain, it's done matter-of-factly. If she moans, it's muffled and brief. And you know what she has to look forward to? Sweating through the pain of pushing out an over-sized watermelon.

I am very impressed ... and humbled.