I have never understood why couples use the term “we’re pregnant.” The last time I checked, I was the one with swollen ankles, a sore back, and stretch marks. Okay, my husband shared my insatiable hunger, but that is about the only link we shared.
I was fortunate to have a caring and loving husband who never let me carry anything heavy, made sure I got plenty of rest, and ran out to the store each time I asked for a bowl of ice cream. But, we were not pregnant; I was!
When it came time to deliver our daughter, my husband became my pillar of strength. He stood by the hospital bed, held my hand, and told me how proud he was. He was beside me during the c-section and watched the miracle of our daughter’s birth. He rarely left my side during my prolonged hospital stay. His support continues to this day as we raise our child.
“We” conceived a baby. “We” are working together to provide our child with a safe and loving home. “We” do a lot together. But, “I” was the pregnant one. And make no mistakes, “I” was the one who gave birth!