One pregnancy related issue I'm terrified of is stretch marks. I've heard horror stories about women who have huge red bands on their skin after giving birth, never to return to normal. Forget about bikinis (please GOD let me not have worn my last bikini), these folks are one-piecers for the rest of their lives. And I'm not ready to throw in the beach towel just yet.
So one of the things that I've begged for from Ben is a good belly rub every night, with a "lotion" that has a consistency of hard wax and leaves a really nice body imprint on the sheets. If you've ever seen "Coming to America" and remember the part where several family members get up off a couch and leave an imprint of their hair from the Soul Glo they use? THAT is what my belly is doing to our bed. Its YUMMY.
So anyways, I'm feeling all good about myself, about how I'm taking care of my skin and NOT going to get any of those pesky stretch marks, when Ben remarks casually one night, "You know, its not your stomach that is getting stretch marks, its your back."
Excuse me, my WHAT?? I nearly killed myself making a run for our mirror and spent a good five minutes trying to get a look at these "stretch marks" he was speaking of. I just ended up turning in circles looking over my shoulder like a dog chasing his tail (I am pretty sure I was whimpering too) but never got a good look. And while this is going on, Ben is just sighing and repeating, "I shouldn't have told you."
No shit Sherlock. That's like saying "Yes, those pants make you look fat," and then being SHOCKED that your lady has lost her marbles and is curled in the fetal position on the floor.
So now, every time I get my rub down I keep saying... "Did you get my back? Did you get the stretch marks?" And Ben keeps sighing like the poor, devoted and slightly beat down husband he is and saying "I shouldn't have told you."