The Home Stretch

What to expect when your imperfecting

After three pregnancies, you’ve seen a lot. And I’m not even the one doing the hard part. The roller coaster of emotions, crazy symptoms and baby prep is well beyond any other life experience. The excitement of that first reveal quickly fades into this 9-month marathon of vomit, eating, more vomit, more eating and people incessantly asking, “Do you have any cravings?” I think humans who have no idea what to say default to this inquiry, like some kind of Family Feud scoreboard. Yes, she does: french fries, pickles and designer handbags.

I realized my wife has been pregnant for nearly three of years of her life. Three years barred of booze, rollerblading and sushi. Thirty six months of progressively worse moods and general physical health, akin to the nastiest rolling hangover without any of the fun. In exchange, I’ve always told her she has a special card that can be played at her discretion. The card is valid up to the day of birth (don’t worry—new moms get another kind of card, too) and is redeemable for forgetting any important event, cutting a restaurant line for a dinner table, or watching any TV show (or Netflix true crime story) of your choice. I think it’s completely fair, and our society loves pregnant people. I feel like my wife could shoplift or graffiti a highway overpass, and would get a kind warning and a ride home.

But now, just like the final weeks leading up to our first two daughters, everything is just hard. She groans getting off the coach and can’t find a comfortable position to sleep. She has heartburn like a fire-breathing dragon and is so constantly hot, I swear we live in Norway thanks to our hyperactive A/C. And I feel guilty for everything. I secretly sip a beer out of a kids sippy cup in the closet while eating a day-old cold cut and unpasteurized cheese sandwich. I try to balance my presence as well, ensuring I’m always close enough to fulfill an ask but far enough away to avoid complete burnout. We’re pretty much tied at the hip until this kid makes its debut, and my witty one-liners have a short shelf life.

This part is also exciting, too. No one is truly ready, but we’re also close as we can be. It’s like Christmas eve or the morning of the championship game. The pregame playlist is bumping and we’re locked in on strategy. The hype crew—my other two kids—are vibrating with excitement, hopped up on Starburst and fruit punch. This is a new squad, new family dynamic that is quite literally changing the game.

So now, we wait. It’s tough to be sharp when you don’t know the tipoff time, but we’ll stay alert. I huddle in a parka and beanie, fielding a few more requests before the big moment. Hold on… I’ve got to run to the store for Talenti salted caramel truffle gelato. But don’t call it a craving.