Super Supportive

My husband has always been incredibly supportive. That much should be obvious from the name of this blog, He Took My Last Name. It was a joke at first, suggesting it, but he really liked the idea, and we did it. It was awesome.

But aside from choosing a cooler moniker, Brian is more than willing to hear out all of my baby worries, thoughts, and "plans". I don't really have any plans. Except that I am going to pump breast milk for at least 12 months, my child is getting vaccinated, and I'll be damned if I am delivering sans epidural.

I told him how some parents put their newborns on schedules, like you would bringing a new puppy home. He stared at me like I had sprouted a second head. He said that babies shouldn't be on schedules, because they can't grasp the concept yet. I could not agree more. I think it's silly. He also said vaccines are the only reason any of us are alive today. True again, in my opinion.

He has complimented me more times than I can count in the last 20 weeks than he has our entire relationship to date (and, for reference? Pre-preggers, I got LOTS of compliments.)

Case in point: We are headed home from the store and I notice that I am smelly. Like onions. Pleasant. But nothing new, I've always had onion-BO. I start to mention that I probably need more deodorant because I smell.... and he interrupted me!

Me: I smell like onions. I need more deodor---
Him: No you don't! You smell like angels!
Me: Like an angel? Haha, okay.
Him: Angels and sunshine.

He also gets angry at me if I attempt to bend over for any reason. "STOP IT!" He even yelled it once. It was pretty surprising. I've never been told "no" by him. Now that's all I hear. No don't do this. No don't worry I've got it. Etc, etc.

In fact, ever since I felt the baby first move, he has been bending over backwards for me. Asking me if I need anything? Am I okay? How am I feeling? It's been very difficult to not take complete advantage of his sweet nature. Yeah, I'm okay, but ice cream and cookies would make my life so much better... not that I haven't been eating ice cream. I have. A lot. I'm just sayin'... it's hard not to take complete advantage of this.

I asked him how he felt about changing diapers. "I already pick up dog shit in a bag. Outside. In the rain. At least it will be my own child's." Good point.
I asked him how he felt that he won't get to play with my fun bags for a while (aka boobies) "I'd rather you use them for what they were made for. Besides, I like your butt more."
I asked him what he was nervous about when the baby got home. "Nothing really, I'm still thinking this is all a dream."

He's not worried at all about being a dad. Which is so great. I know that our kid is only probably going to be half as messed up if it were just me parenting. Brian is a fantastic rock, one who keeps me calm in the most intense situations. I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have a baby with. Actually, before Brian, I never even wanted kids. So really, this is all his fault.

But I've never been happier.