She's always itchy, scratching until her skin is red and splotchy. She's got me scratching those impossible-to-reach spots on her back ("HARDER! HARDER!"), and she isn't satisfied unless I practically break the skin. I'm thinking of keeping a pair of spaghetti tongs on the bedside table.
I'm trying my best to empathize with every single complaint, but it's hard when they're coming one on top of the other. I was working on my laptop last night when Sarah started mumbling something about how these hiccups were driving her crazy.
There is a moment in every pregnancy, I am told, when a man hits The Wall. His excitement and anticipation is overshadowed by a desire to just have his selfish life back to normal. I am there.