On Sunday night, Chris and I had our last official couples-only date night before the baby comes. Now, I know that once we have a baby, we will still be able to go out just the two of us. I know that our marriage doesn’t just dissolve into a pool of baby food. But things will change. And even if they change for the better, it will still never just be me and Chris after this. I’m super excited about growing our family, but there is a saddness that comes with that as well. Its only a small part of the emotions that I’m going through in this last week, but its a very real part. I have loved living my life with Chris. I know that I will continue to love living my life with Chris. But I will still look back and remember these first ten years we’ve spent when we were a couple instead of a family.
So, Sunday night was our date night. We got dressed up. We went to Olive Garden (because I can’t live without their salad and breadsticks). We sat outside on a bench while we waited for our table and we talked about if this was where we had pictured ourselves years ago. We talked about what kind of parents we each would be. We talked about how to keep our identities while still being the best Mom and Dad we can be. We talked and talked and talked.
When we finally got to a table and our food finally arrived, Chris was already a couple glasses into his wine and I was equally as drunk on breadsticks. But no amount of breadsticks could prepare me for the one-sided conversation that Chris was about to have with himself.
We were talking about the c-section and that we were ready and felt good about having one instead of delivering naturally. I admitted that I hadn’t really thought of it as a surgical procedure yet. I was so focused on the fact that it would result in a baby that I hadn’t given much attention to the fact that they would be doing major surgery on me.
And then Chris had the following conversation with himself while stuffing his face and I looked on in horror:
“Of course its a surgical procedure! They’re gonna gut you like a fish!” he said, never looking up from his plate.
“Like. A. Fish.” he added for emphasis.
“I mean, they’re gonna rip you open and take your guts out. I can’t even imagine,” he said, stuffing his face with a mouthful of alfredo.
“I’m glad they’re gonna have that little sheet up cause I don’t wanna see any part of that. Guts and babies all over the place. Nope. Definitely don’t want to see that…” he pauses to take another bite of pasta.
“Gut you like a FISH,” he concludes.
This whole time, I have been sitting in horror staring at him with my mouth open, which he would have noticed if he’d raised his head up out of his feeding trough for two seconds. Finally, I guess he realized what he was saying and he stopped eating and looked up at me.
“I mean, you’re gonna be awesome, Babe,” he said. I could see the terror in his eyes and that fleeting, pleading thought, “Oh, God. What have I done? I’ve angered the beast. Please don’t kill me.”
Lucky for Chris, the waiter magically appeared with a fresh basket of breadsticks which narrowly saved his life.
I cleared my throat.
“Uh, yeah,” I said, trying to maintain my cool. “I guess it won’t be so bad. I’m feeling….pretty…confident…I guess.”
“That’s great, Sweetie!” he responded, sensing the danger was over. He picked up his fork again and started to stuff his face. “Cause they’re gonna gut you like a fish!”
Way to rebound, Chris. Way to rebound.