Back to Square One

Let’s say, hypothetically speaking, that I wake up one morning and my Achilles heel is rather stiff and walking is a bit difficult. Suppose my wife tells me to take it easy and not move around so much. However, I still hobble walk around the house doing my usual things.

Later on, she’s in the shower and asks me to come and open the door for her because it’s become too steamy inside. I holler back that my Achilles heel is still sore and shouldn’t be walking around, even though the bathroom door is less than 10 steps away from where I’m sitting, watching TV. She keeps asking me to help her open the door, but I just tune her out.

Now, what would you think of me? You’d label me a cruel, selfish man, correct? You’d tell me that I deserve to spend the rest of eternity on my timeout couch. But what if the roles were reversed and instead of me being the one injured, it was my wife, and the one in the shower was me. What would you say now? Exactly. You’d still tell me that I deserve to spend the rest of eternity on my timeout couch.

Life is full of injustices. I have to learn to accept that. Forget the feminist movement. Men and women are not created equally. For my part, I’m still as immature as ever. I haven’t changed a bit. I could have, should have opened the door myself. For whatever reason, I just wanted to see if she’d do it for me. Childish, I know. And when she didn’t, it upset me. But it shouldn’t have. She’s injured and she’s pregnant. That’s a combination I should have known not to mess with. It’s like giving a kid a lighter and a stick of dynamite and thinking nothing bad could come of it.

I believe most men are on a learning curve when it comes to understanding woman. We’re forever trying to close the gap that separates us. After all, men are from Mars and women are from Venus. This gap turns into a chasm when you toss pregnancy into the mix. We fall even further behind, or in my case, really, really behind. The wife is right to call me a turtle.

And that’s how I wound up celebrating the end of Jessie’s first trimester on the timeout couch. Here’s to a better second trimester!