The Cankle Blues
I retained so much water that you could draw things on my legs and they would stay there for 1-2 minutes. I started crying one night because my husband drew a sad face on my leg. For some reason, and I'm assuming it's because I was completely irrational during my pregnancy, I thought he was saying he was sad because I was fat. Tears flowed for about an hour. I finally gave up when I couldn't even understand what I was saying anymore.
Eat My Yogurt and Die
I was 39 weeks pregnant this past may. I had seen lime Greek yogurt at the store and thought it looked delicious, so I bought a container to try. The next morning I woke up at 6:30 because I was too hungry to sleep any longer (common problem I had!). I went to grab the container of yogurt out of the fridge and it wasn't there. Glancing at the counter, I saw the empty container sitting by the sink. My husband had eaten the entire thing sometime in the night!
Naturally, I burst into tears right there. Then I hear, "Hi mom, why are you crying?" My five year old was already up and sitting on the couch and I hadn't noticed her! What do I say to that? "I'm crying because daddy ate all the yogurt?" I didn't. I just made something up and asked her for a hug.
And then I bought more yogurt. One for me and one for him. And I made sure to tell him what would happen if he ate my yogurt again.
The Pregnant Hulk
We were still newly weds, technically. At the time, I was all into being a wife. I liked wifey duties (I'm laughing right this second as I think about my misplaced eagerness), so of course I wanted to iron his clothes for him while he was at work. We had gotten a cheap ironing board from Walmart, and I cranked that sucker up to waist height and did my duty. Crisp shirts. I was very proud.
But then it came time to put the ironing board away, and for some reason it wouldn't ratchet back down to "flat mode." At first I struggled with it standing up, and then as my frustration grew I kicked it on its side and started to wrangle it like a WWE pro--one leg wrapped around the side, tugging on it violently. And then tears just started pouring down my face. I started to sob hysterically, kicking the ironing table while great, wracking, heaving, inhuman sounds came out of my mouth. I grabbed a chair and started to beat it.
When my husband got home I had a smile on my face and the ironing board had been dented and mangled, but it still hadn't flattened down. He asked what happened, and still happy I just said, "Oh it was frustrating the heck out of me, but I felt better after mangling it."
He didn't miss the inferred analogy, and he ironed his own shirts without a peep of protest.
- Alyssa Auch
Sobbing through "24" like it's Steel Magnolias
I cried while watching "24" when bad guys were killed. When my husband looked at me like I was crazy, I responded with "What? He had a MOTHER, didn't he????" When I wasn't crying, I was shouting at jack Bauer to stop shooting so many people. When he came back with the obvious - "It's a tv show, honey," my only response was "Yeah, but what if the actor's mom is watching and she sees her son fake die? That would be so hard to watch!" Eye roll was the only response from the husband after that one.
- Katie Hill
Who Destroyed the Car Radio? (Hint: The Pregnant Woman)
I had a long commute from work at the time, and that day in particular I had something very important to tell my husband and it couldn't wait (maybe something like, "Make sure you get extra banana peppers on the pizza tonight" ... oh the cravings!). So I was trying to call him on my cell while driving. On the third try, I felt that familiar rage again when I finally heard him answer and my call was suddenly dropped. Something in me snapped. I held my phone like a serial killer holding a butcher knife and I rammed it over and over into the dash. I slammed it against the radio display again and again. I felt a little better.
The next day unsurprisingly, my radio did not work. (Phone worked fine!) Too ashamed to tell my husband what I had done, I mentioned casually that there was something wrong with the radio in my car. My hubby, being the auto genius he is, tried to fix it. But he came back in the house flabbergasted. The entire inside of the LED screen was shattered. We have purchased a new radio to replace it, but it still doesn't work. Something deeper than just the radio is broken. My daughter is 2 1/2 now, I still drive to work in silence (a shorter commute now thankfully), and my husband still does not know what happened to my radio.
For him, it is one of life's great mysteries. I can see him scratching his head wondering how it just shattered. I imagine that many years from now, on his death bed (or me on mine), I will tell him.
How a Mouse Ruined Her Life Forever
When I was pregnant with my first child, I planned every last detail of my pregnancy and delivery including fully preparing my hospital bag. I was sure to pack Jolly Ranchers since I heard you should bring hard candy since you won't be allowed to eat.
I had just returned home from a grueling day of teaching high school students about books and stuff, and I went into my bedroom to take my shoes off my gargantuan feet, throw on a pair of yoga pants, and begin my post-school ritual of stuffing my face and then falling asleep on the couch until my husband got home from work to find me covered in crumbs and snoring heavily. As soon as I entered the room, I sensed something was amiss. My mommy ESP had already kicked in, and I knew that evil was lurking nearby.
I kicked open my packed suitcase, which I had left unzipped. As soon as the deed was done, the horror that met my eyes caused me to momentarily go blind with rage.
A mouse had been in my hospital bag.
The moments that followed are still a bit of a blur. I know I cursed our lazy cat aloud. I cursed my house for being old and having access points for vermin that had still be undiscovered. I cursed my husband for not being present when the mouse entered the room so that he could eliminate the threat. I cursed every mouse I had ever tried to rescue from traps as a child.
And then I sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed. Uncontrollably. FOR AN HOUR.
I tried to call my husband, who obviously had no idea that the WORST THING TO EVER HAPPEN had happened at our house and did not answer his phone. He didn't answer it the second time I tried to call either ... or the third. So I called my best friend, Kara.
When she answered the phone, I was unintelligible from my uncontrollable crying. I was finally able to squeeze out, "A MOUSE (snort) ATE (sniff) My JOLLY RANCHERS! (wail)"
At some point in our conversation, I managed to explain the situation, and at several points in our conversation, Kara was able to calm me down by reassuring me that it WAS, indeed, the worst thing to ever happen in the history of the world and that the mouse WAS, indeed, the most evil creature that ever lived.
I kept thinking to myself, What if I go into labor tonight? Will I be able to get to a bag of Jolly Ranchers in time, or will I be forced to suffer from a dry throat and rancid breath throughout labor? And after those thoughts, the uncontrollable sobs returned.
An hour, people. I could. not. calm. down. for AN HOUR.
- Lindsay Williams