And listen to this while you read. (You're welcome, btw).
Sometimes when you tell a husband you are pregnant, he gets all emotional and sappy and excited. And sometimes when you tell a husband you are pregnant he does that, and then the third thing out of his mouth is, "Well, I guess I have a DD for the next 9 months!"
I have faithfully served as said DD for the last 9 months or so. Fair is fair and I will admit that in the younger days of our relationship there were many a night where I was glad to have my responsible boyfriend to drive me home. So, he gets his turn for a while, right?
Well. When we were in Texas, A decided to get back at me for all those times that I was a total freshman college girl and act like one himself.
After proving his prowess at consuming and then stacking empty beer cans at the rehearsal dinner, we all headed to a piano bar afterward to have some fun.
At said bar, A then decided it would be a GRAND idea to start drinking Hurricanes. Oh, did I mention that the bar we were at was Pat O'Briens? As in, the San Antonio location of the bar that is credited with inventing the hurricane?
A short while later I realized that while I, an actual freshman college girl at one point, learned the wonders, dangers, and potencies of such mysterious concoctions - freshman boys apparently don't learn that sort of thing.
5 hurricanes later, yes 5, I had quite the "fun" husband on my hands.
This is my fun husband doing who knows what with our friend Megan's hands.
Please note the rose on the table. This is when I realized just what a "fun" husband I had on my hands that night, as he actually.went.and.bought a $5 rose for me from a guy selling them from a basket who had wandered inside the bar. My sober husband is cheap y'all, so this was a red flag.
Shortly after heckling the piano bar man (who admittedly was just mean and NOT funny), and paying waaaay too much money to keep hearing the UGA fight song over LSU (considering that I was the only one in the whole bar who went there) A decided to wander upstairs to the "dance party" level.
Let's just say he had a great time dancing and partying the rest of the night away while I kept him from consuming more alcohol by being the pregnant sober wife dancing with a super sweaty man who was enamored with the laser lights, secretly thinking to herself, "THIS is the father of my child". Proudly, of course.
Everyone else thought it was adorable how enamored he was with me (as shown by his dirty dancing and grope-y ways) which was sweet in a totally drunk and sweaty kind of way (that I probably would have enjoyed more with a few drinks in me).
We really did have a ton of fun dancing and playing with some of our best friends in the whole wide world, I promise I was not a complete party pooper, but I don't think that anyone had more fun than this guy:
Mouth stained red from too many hurricanes? Check.
Around 2 am my patience and energy started wearing out just a tad, so we rounded up the troops to head on back to the hotel. Please remember that this was the rehearsal night, so we needed to be up early the next morning to get wedding festivities rolling.
On the way back I got to entertain such awesome questions as:
"I am just so in love with you right now, why won't you make out with me?"
Um, honey we are in the middle of a street...let's get out of the way of that trolley coming towards us, k?
"What do you mean my breath smells bad?"
Well babe, you just had a lot of alcohol and believe it or not, it smells that way.
(While laying on the floor of our hotel room) "I don't want to take a shower, I just want to go to bed! Why do I have to?"
Because you are the sweatiest man I have ever seen and you are not climbing in those sheets with me, sir, until you get.in.the.shower.
I laughed a lot that night. What else can you do?
The next morning, he was a treat, let me tell you. But after recounting all of his exploits to him while he groaned, he looked at me and said, "Well, at least you have had some practice reasoning with a toddler like mentality now."
That is true, my love, very true.
37 weeks, 4 days along
...and everyone deserves to go out with a bang, right?
(because you know nights like that are gonna be few and far between in the next few years...)