Weight Up

They say we live in the Information Age. Information concerning just about everything is available with just the turn of a page or click of a button. And this includes babyness.

We got one of those weekly pregnancy books to tell us what was going in utero. This particular book has handy dandy sketches of the fetal development. It also likes to compare the baby's size to pieces of fruit. Is this a subliminal attempt to get the women to eat more vitamin C? Those sly book doctors.

So in our reading we learned that at eight weeks the baby was the size of a pinto bean and looked like some sort of mutant otter. At nine weeks, the baby was the size of an olive, the uterus was grapefruit and the baby looks like an alien. Ten weeks gave us a plum-sized lawn gnome. They haven't said we necessarily live in the Useful Information Age.

Did I Mention There's A Baby In There?

Three sentences that are terrifying to a man's ears:

"The boss wants to see you."

"You have the right to remain silent."

"Does this make me look fat?"

Pardon me while I shudder. First of all, the answer to question three is no. En Oh. It's always no. ALWAYS. Now that I have saved some male lives, we can move on.

You would think this difficult situation would no longer occur during pregnancy. Finally, after a lifetime of trying to get slim, stay slim, slim jim, and whatever else…finally a woman is supposed to gain weight. It's required. And other people are disappointed if it doesn't happen quickly. When Lorisa was first telling people she was expecting, people were almost upset that she wasn't bigger. They love to see a big beautiful belly bursting with life.

So why is there still a problem? Weight gain = Growing baby = Happiness, right? Yet we husbands still have to make use of our repertoire of comforting replies. It puzzles my man mind.

Our doctor tried to explain to me that it's just hard for a woman to see her body change like that. I suppose that makes sense, but doesn't having a baby trump all that? That became my standard response to any non-joy from the missus. Pants don't fit right? "There's a baby in there." Are you sluggish and fatigued? "There's a baby in there." Feeling queasy for sheezy? That's right: "There's a baby in there."

I know actually being pregnant isn't fun. Believe me, I'm glad I don't possess the proper plumbing. But, ladies, don't let the unpleasant chapters in the middle of the book distract you from the happy ending. You are carrying a brand new life. There's a little miracle growing inside you who will make you the happiest person in the world. There's a baby in there.

Disclaimer: Scott is just someone who knows his wife's pants don't make her look fat. Look for the tale to continue in about a week.