Pregnant women can be so self-centered sometimes. They’re always thinking of themselves, saying extremely silly things like I’m hungry, feed me or I’m tired, carry me upstairs. They demand these things without taking into consideration that food is expensive and that carrying them up the stairs is a direct violation of section B paragraph 12 of your softball contract:
“No player is allowed to lift or carry any woman he impregnated—not even his wife—up steps, down steps or over big puddles of mud during spring, summer or fall sessions. Any violation of this rule will be met with a demotion, suspension or, worse—taking over coaching responsibilities of the team.”
Recently, I’ve noticed that this self-centeredness has caused
Disgusting? Sure, but impressive nonetheless.
I decided that this kind of neglect was completely unacceptable. When I confronted her, she made up lame excuses like “I’m tired” or “My back hurts” or “You’re a grown adult and should be able to pick up your own damn clothes and throw them in the hamper.” Obviously the baby is causing her to lose her mind.
With this conversation, I had opened a can of worms. She began acting like I didn’t do enough and demanded that I pick up the slack. Clean the bathtub!, she’d say. So I cleaned the bathtub. Vacuum the rugs! So I vacuumed the rugs. Cook dinner! So I picked up a yummy 30-sack of White Castles. But, in true
After the food had settled, I gave
So I cleaned the bathroom—sink, tub and toilet. I changed the bedding and fluffed the pillows. I did the laundry (twice, if you count the underwear I accidentally dropped in the toilet and dried with the hair blow dryer). I made trips to the grocery store with lists that included more than just
I rarely pat myself on the back (hey, stop groaning!), but after examining the past week and all I accomplished, I knew I deserved it. I knew I could safely look in the mirror and say to myself “job well done.”
I still don’t like doing chores and, if I had my way, I’d hire a housekeeper to take care of everything. Then again, if I had my way the Reds would play year-round, video games would qualify as ‘pets’ and all the thoughts running through my head would be narrated by the soothing voice of James Earl Jones. Unfortunately, I can’t control everything and it’s not unreasonable for me to pull my weight around the house. I vow that until BK3 is born, I will clean more, dust more and shower more—at least once a week—and help out in anyway I can.
Of course, once the baby arrives, my cleaning career is over. Don’t believe me? You should. It’s prohibited in my softball contract.
In Memoriam: While growing up, Kurt Vonnegut was my favorite writer. His books pushed me to think harder, think for myself. I may never be as prolific as he was, but I wouldn’t be the writer I am today without him. I’d like to end with a passage he wrote in Slaughterhouse-Five that’s stuck with me since I was 15:
“Why me? Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything? Because this moment simply is. Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber? Well, here we are, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.”
Goodnight Mr. Vonnegut. You'll be missed.