Ode to Superwoman (aka Wife)

My wife is the most awesome girl ever.

She is happy, beautiful, considerate, humble, persevering, and deserving of everything I have to give. In case you haven’t been married to a pregnant person, you give a whole lot. But (and this is a very big but), what you give is nothing compared to what she gives.

Oh yeah, I give a lot. I make arepas once a week to feed the baby. I do the laundry and the dishes. I vacuum the rugs. I help Sara put on her socks. I even start the Momo for her some mornings.

But all my big “domestic doings” just pale in comparison with tribulations of the pregnant one.

For instance, I can't imagine ever feeling constantly bloated, but she can. I don't fathom what its like to have another human inside of you, but she fathoms. I don't think I could face the impending experience of labor without being morbidly sick each day I woke up one day closer to THAT day, but she does.

Instead, I wake up in the morning wondering...

What does it feel like to be kicked all night when you’re trying to sleep?
How do you patiently spend every waking moment in the bathroom or the kitchen?
How do you smile when you feel like tossing your cookies?
What does it feel like to get no joy out of eating, because you’ve “already eaten that today”?
How does your back stay intact with the lump of joy on the front?
And all while you’re teaching 40 hours a week?
How is a person still alive?

No… I don't know what its like to be a superhero, but she does.

Yes, she has been the superhuman of the family for the last 243 days and counting.

You are my hero, and I love you Sara!