Before I begin, I wanna discourage any of you fellas out there from ever publicly writing such a post about your pregnant wife. I’m a trained professional equipped with the exact combination of pathological preposterousness and neurotic ineptitude needed to get away with such a seemingly insensitive list. Plus, my wife doesn’t read my stuff anymore. Something about it reminding her too much of actually speaking with me.
Still, I couldn’t resist. I mean, it is Good Friday, and Easter is a mere two days away, and we have, indeed, been boiling eggs before dying them — and, really and truly, Caroline’s pregnancy has, indeed, rendered her a lot like a hard boiled egg. At least in my estimation. Here are 5 ways how:
1. She’s Fragile: You know what’s frustrating? How easily a hardboiled egg can crack at any point in time while you’re handling it. Similarly, these days I’ve found that my wife, too, can crack at any point in time while I’m handling her. Not physically handling her, mind you. (Sadly, that train left the station at 22 weeks or so.) Metaphorically handling her. See, just like those pipin’ hot eggs that come out of the water, I know I must negotiate every move I make with my wife extremely carefully. Because I’ve been reckless in the past, and that recklessness has caused her to crack. And it ain’t a pretty sight.
2. She often takes on color: Now that we have a coupla dozen hard boiled eggs upstairs, they’ve all taken on color, thanks to our dying efforts, that is. And one thing I’ve noticed about my pregnant wife is that she often takes on color. During the initial weeks, the glamorous morning sickness which accompanied her would occasionally render her green. And frequent interaction with me sometimes leaves her a bright shade of red. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that I annoy her or something. (I know. Weird.)
3. Caution: Especially now that Caroline has officially reached the third trimester, she has to exercise extremely caution while doing virtually anything, even just rolling over in bed. So, like a hard boiled egg, she often has to go over easy. What’s that? Over easy is a description of the way you’d cook a regular egg, not a hard boiled egg? Oh.
Say, do me favor, would you? Leave me alone and go make your own list.
4. Spoons: Ever since I was young, I’ve associated hard boiled eggs with spoons. Before all the fancy egg-dying tools, that’s what we’d use to dunk our egg in the dye, carefully rotating it halfway through to make sure there wasn’t any discoloring where the egg had rested against the spoon. Coincidentally, it’s now my wife I associate with spoons. Because ever since becoming pregnant she’s been holding one.
5. Love: When I was little, every interaction with a hard boiled egg was a delight. I enjoyed how you had to use your spoon (see, there’s that spoon reference again) to gently tap against the shell to start the peeling process. Then there was the peeling process, itself, complete with that white skin-type thing that you had to get off the egg. And then, of course, eating them. They were always so delicious to me. But not only that, they were also good for me. Oh how I loved them, so.
Same thing with my wife. Only I don’t crack her with a spoon and peel her. And I don’t eat her, either. (Remember that train?)
But everything about my pregnant Caroline is a delight. And she’s most definitely good for me. And I do love her, so.