“I almost yelled at your son today,” I informed my husband when he came home. This was after a rather intense and painful bout of this baby trying to Hulk-smash his way out through my skin.
Your son.
This baby is fully my husband’s when he’s troublesome, when I want someone else to take the burden of tending to him — even though he’s still in the womb and that is physically impossible and he is perfectly innocent of any perceived wrongdoing.
A scroll through our recent texts will prove just how frequent these sentiments are.
“Please tell your son to stop kicking while mommy’s working.”
“Your son is elbowing me.”
“Your son is keeping me up all night.”
My husband will make some clever quip back about his boy.
And suddenly a moment of physical discomfort and annoyance for me, transforms into a bonding moment for us all. This baby is just as much mine as he is his father’s. And for my husband, during this time when baby and I are practically one and the same, I’m sure it’s nice to hear it once in a while, too. Your son.