Expect to Hate Your Husband

 *A few nights ago I was woken from my pizza-induced slumber for no apparent reason. I didn't need to pee (Shock!). I didn't need a drink of water (Shock!). I wasn't in any sort of pain and hadn't been awoken by my furry child's wet nose on my arm (Shock!).

My mind rarely slows down when it's awake and it took the opportunity to think about all the things I needed to do at work that day. Usually I'll grab a Post-It to write stuff down to relax my mind but, lo and behold, everything I was thinking of was already on my fancy-smancy to-do list!

Stupid brain.

I assured my brain that I had everything organized on a pink Post-It in my planner and that it was, indeed, time to go to sleep. I tried and almost succeeded.

...if it hadn't been for smelly Husband...

Everytime I was on the cusp of unconsciousness, Stinky McStinkerson decided to...how do I put this delicately?...fart. What happened to consideration for the pregnant one? Hmmm?
So, here's the deal folks. Pregnant women are like superheroes. We have an enhanced sense of smell. It's one of our many superpowers. So Husband's normally innocuous flatulence became toxic and possibly deadly.

I woke up Husband to alert him of his offensive odor. He blamed it on the dog and promptly fell back asleep.

A few minutes later, another squeaked out and I just about suffocated in my cocoon of gaseous death. I woke him up again and told him to go to the toilet. He simply said, "I don't hafta go." And, once again, promptly fell asleep.

About this time, I started contemplating if I really needed Husband...

After long deliberation, I decided that Husband is good to have around, ya know, in case I have a jar I can't open or something. So Husband got to live and I FINALLY fell back asleep.

The next morning I was in better spirits after farty hubby got up and I got in about 45 minutes of good, uninterrupted slumber.

Too bad those good spirits were short lived.

While getting ready in the bathroom Husband proceeded to call our impending ultrasound the following Friday a "test."

Whoa, whoa, buddy. A "test?" Getting to see our little "miracle of life," "apple of our eye" in fuzzy black-and-white wonderfulness is a "test?" First you fart all morning and then you call our ultrasound a test?

How dare you, Stinky? How dare you?

So I spent the day planning for the following night. It wasn't murder I had on my mind, oh no. It was revenge! Sweet, stinky revenge.


*I was originally going to post this shortly after Valentine's Day and Husband's birthday, but I put it off for a week or two. Husband was a sweetheart last week and I felt guilty about posting it. Well, guilt over, enjoy!