Eric and I have officially traded positions on the acceptance that a baby is coming.

While I have been preparing, nesting, expecting, etc. for the past million months, Eric has been reluctantly stuck in a surreal state of not-sure-what-to-think-about-the-whole-thing and not terribly gungho. He acknowledged that we were probably eventually going to have a baby, but not to the extent that I was, as I have had the daily reminders of not only the baby moving within me, but also all that she (the pregnancy) is doing to destroy my body.

However, lately things have switched. While Eric is now super excited about buying pink girly baby stuff (clothes, toys, etc.), I’ve reached that point of this-will-never-end and have resigned myself to being a bloated heavy mess with no baby, ever.

It’s most likely God’s intention that the father reaches a peak of excitement right around the time that the mother gives up, so that he can help her through these last few miserable weeks. And it’s really cute and amusing to see how he’s already catering to the whims of a little girl he’s never met. Case in point, I was picking out stuff that I like, going for more of a trendy or modern look with her furniture, and Eric argued, “how do you know she wouldn’t prefer a princess table to a boring brown wooden one? It’s not what you want, it’s what she wants.”

So cute. I love him.

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