Still Pregnant
I have a friend who insists there is no God, because no loving omnipotent being would allow him to simultaneously suffer baldness and acne. I tell him that this isn't proof that a loving God doesn't exist -- it's only proof that God has a sense of humor, and perhaps doesn't love him so much.
As further proof of the Almighty's funny bone, we might consider the situation in the Woodlief house. A few weeks ago life was turned upside down when the wife went into pre-term labor. Every serious measure was deployed: hospitalization, medicine, bed rest -- I even did the laundry once.
Well, she's been off bed rest for two weeks, and . . . nothing. The baby is like a limbo dancer, he's so low, and still -- nothing. My poor wife is miserable, but I'm not going to talk about that, because this is www.tonywoodlief.com, and not www.tonywoodlief'smiserablewife.com. Instead I'm going to talk about the fact that I am so twistedly, psychopathically empathetic that I share every one of her symptoms when she's pregnant.
With the first baby, she got lightheaded, and I went through a near-fainting period for several weeks. She got morning sickness, and I couldn't eat.
With the next baby, she was weepy. I teared up at used car commercials. She put on about 900 pounds, and I got porky.
With the last baby we both had back pains, and I swear I have a stretch mark.
And now, with this baby, perhaps because last year she was as hot as she has ever been, she's maintained a high degree of sexiness, and so have . . . well, I don't emulate her on every dimension. But I do have her grumpiness.
This is not an essay about my wife's grumpiness. You carry an eight-pound wiggle-worm who likes to stretch so that his little feet dig into your internal organs, and see whether you can remain Little Mary Sunshine. She's got a visible excuse. But, because nobody sells a t-shirt that says "Back off, Jackass, my wife's pregnant, and I'm sharing her symptoms," I have no such pass.
I almost beat up a guy in the Metro parking lot today. Now, he would have deserved it, so it's not like an injustice almost occurred. But to paraphrase a young Forrest Whittaker, Christians ain't supposed to go around beatin' up jerks at the Metro station.
And yesterday, I emailed one of those losers who keeps posting advertisements in my comments, and offered to let him post as much as he wants -- if he can knock me out in the ring. Again, I'm supposed to turn the other cheek.
I am SO not in a turn-the-other-cheek mood.
Speaking of turning the other cheek, John Eldredge (men, if you haven't read his Wild at Heart, you should buy a copy today and read it this weekend) makes a great point. He says that turning the other cheek is pointless if you aren't confident that you don't have to turn it. Otherwise, in your heart of hearts, you find yourself wondering if you are just a coward.
Something to think about. Okay, enough for now. I'm going to go pound the heavy bag. Unless the guy hawking South American pharmaceuticals has answered my email.
Posted by Woodlief on September 17, 2004 at 08:23 AM