34 Weeks, and A Plea

Dear Best Husband In The World™:

You have so many admirable qualities.  You never leave dirty socks lying around.  You are so good about emptying your lunch box for me when you come  home.  You carry the vacuum cleaner up and down the stairs for me.  And not only do you put the toilet seat down, you put the lid down too.  This is a great deterrent to the large animals (by which I refer to the dogs and not the children) with whom you reside on my behalf (with great tolerance and fortitude) when they'd prefer to view the toilet as a drinking fountain, and also keeps our chi from flowing out of the house and into the septic tank, where it isn't likely to do us much good.

Sadly, this is a habit that is not as helpful at this point in our lives as it will be again, I hope, in other times... such as when we have an enterprising toddler who might see the toilet as a mini-tub in which to play with his bath toys.

For now, however, as you so cheerfully pointed out in class, my bladder is being used as a trampoline by Child Within.  This is uncomfortable at the best of times, but at the worst of times - which I have begun to consider the hours between 2 AM and 6 AM - this is enough to wake me from a sound sleep with a sense of urgency that propels me to the bathroom.

So far, so good - that is indeed the direction in which I want (and need) to go.  But in my semi-somnolent state, my body is far more awake than my brain, and when I get to the bathroom, all it wants is to relieve the pressure as quickly as possible.  Nothing in the brain is working more efficiently than that urge - including the signal that was supposedly sent to my eyes to tell them to open.  And so I stumble blind into our tiny water closet.

The first time I encountered the lid in its down position, it was a cold, entirely unwelcome shock against my bare and warm-from-the-bed nether parts.  It nearly negated the need for me to lift the lid, but would have created a really big mess.  Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to cross my legs before standing back up and then bending down again to lift.

This does not seem like such a big deal - remember to lift before sitting - but as you know, we live in a house that was designed for Little People.  Okay, I exaggerate - but again as you well know, the original owners were both around 5 feet tall and you and I are not.

Now picture your largely pregnant wife trying to squat sideways to lift that lid (because our water closet dimensions were again, not designed for women closer to 6 feet tall than 5 feet tall, and thus, both my largely pregnant stomach and my almost-as-pregnant ass do not fit well in that space unless turned sideways) while trying desperately to control the urge to relieve my poor abused bladder as it waits for squat, lift, squat, position, and release.  In, please all that is holy and benevolent, that order.

The good thing about my increased posterior dimension is that the one time I had the presence of mind to anticipate the lid being down (it wasn't) and lifted it (in the dark with my eyes closed), and discovered (belatedly) that I'd actually lifted the seat instead... I did not fall in.  And I awoke almost instantly which, if we are trying to be positive, is in some cases good (but not in this one).

So, this letter is designed to be both informative - why the toilet lid does not seem to stay down - and importunate - please understand that I'm not doing this out of laziness, but to save my poor aching knees and overworked bladder - and I hope you will, with your typical aplomb and patience, accept this as just another pregnancy foible that will one day come to an end.

I love you.