I was three weeks postpartum with our second son when I told my husband I was going to start a blog. He was very supportive but also curious what it would be about. When he asked me, I simply replied “life.” Which only provoked more questions. Mainly he wanted to know would it be appropriate enough that I would tie my real name to it. Short answer: verdict is still out on that one.

Some of you may be wondering where “Dear Pregnant Husband” came from and what does it mean. To state the obvious: no, my husband was never pregnant and he never thought he was pregnant. Although there were times I had to correct him that “we” are not pushing a tiny human out of us. That would be 100% me. 

When I was nine months pregnant with our first son, I told my husband he needed his A-Game on point. So to him that translated to:

• Let your cellphone die so that if/when your wife goes into labor, she will have to send you smoke signals. Check!
• Misplace your phone at the gym and the police had to locate it via Find My Phone. Very embarrassing.
• Brew beer and let it explode all over the freshly painted bathroom. It looked like someone’s butt had exploded on the ceiling. I was less than thrilled.

For nine months I could not/chose not to end my night with a nice glass of wine, chow down on my favorite deli turkey sandwich or take cold medicine, but my husband could and did.

Do not get me wrong, having babies are miracles and we were very excited for the new bundle arriving since it was not super easy for us to get pregnant. However, nine months is a long time and you get a little bitter, or at least I did, when others can do things that I could not. It was then in my ninth month of my first pregnancy that my idea for “Dear Pregnant Husband” was birthed. Yes, pun intended with lots of sarcasm.