My Dear Hubby

I'd like to dedicate this post to my dear husband. He is the reason why I say "WE are pregnant," not "I am pregnant." You see, I may be the one carrying the baby and dealing with the nausea, but he's the one dealing with just about everything else. This first trimester has been pretty rough and there is absolutely no way I could have survived it without his help.

For instance, most days, Andy gets up at 4:45, makes his own breakfast, lunch, and coffee (something I used to do) and is out the door by 5:15 to head to work. He usually calls at least once during the day to check on how I'm doing and how Ira is. I usually call him at some point asking him to pick (insert random grocery/sundry/medicine etc. here) up on his way home. (Because since we found out we were pregnant, I haven't done a lick of grocery shopping.) When he gets home, he pretty much takes over Ira care for the night. He fixes dinner, gives Ira his bath, puts Ira to bed, then is stuck cleaning up the kitchen (because since we found out we were pregnant, I haven't fixed a meal, and I don't think I've cleaned the kitchen up once - there's some funky perma-smell in the kitchen that makes me sick.)

I feel so blessed to have a husband who is so involved and so patient and so caring. One who has let me focus solely on growing our baby while taking over everything else. One who would drive half an hour to get me a Taco Salad that I was craving, only to bring it home, have me take 5 bites (complaining every bite about how off it tastes) and running to the bathroom to... well you get the idea. One who would drive an hour and a half to make it to our OB appointment. I could go on and on, but I'm guessing you get the idea. So if you ever catch me saying, "We are pregnant," you'll know the "WE" was entirely intentional.