She's not Jesus!

Last night I was quizzing the Husband on why he doesn't daily shower my belly with affection and sweet nothings. It only makes sense to me that after years and years of failed attempts to get anything to sprout in there that he would want to talk to our little one daily... even if she is still shielded by a couple layers of my belly fat. But, it seems, that's just not the case. Frankly, I have to force him to talk to the bump. This usually ends with the Husband screeching in the general direction of my mid-section using a freakish monster voice and me wailing that his daughter is going to come out scared of him.

This scenario was re-enacted in our room last night. I begged the hubs to say a little something to Eleanor (who is still an Eleanor, by the way... phew!!). He very begrudgingly obliged and mumbled a little something about her mom being insane. It was at this point that I finally interceded, "Why don't you like to talk to her?" He thought it over for a few minutes (or just bought time by being silent and looking pensive) and finally responded, "I don't know. It's just kinda weird. I don't know what to say." I responded with much sensitivity, "That's crazy. I talk to her ALL THE TIME!"

It was the Husband's response to this comment which has me seriously questioning his grip on reality. He immediately replied, "Yeah, but you don't have to talk out loud to her." WHAT?! She's not JESUS! I can't pray to the baby in my womb!! Of course I again replied with all the sensitivity of a warthog and laughed out loud until I nearly wet the bed. He stammered a defense, "but she's, like, IN you." I explained that just because she was renting a room in my womb didn't leave us with an intrinsic ESP link, much the same way that while having sex the Husband can't read my mind (not that I haven't wished that to be a time or two).

He was, of course, embarrassed and annoyed at my response. And I had to apologize a few times for the excessive laughter. But it did leave me wondering about the male view of pregnancy. Sure, I realize the wee one is growing inside me. I feel her kicks and movements and that makes it a lot easier to believe the reality of it all. I imagine for men pregnancy must be akin to awaiting a delivery from UPS. You know the approximate delivery date, you're aware that the item is in transit and there's little you can do to stop it's arrival (or speed it up, for that matter). But, I suppose, it's just a bit harder to really understand what's happening. I suppose I can cut him so slack. Hope he figures it out soon though so Eleanor doesn't come out thinking her dad's a mime.