I do love him very much but I say that facetiously for this post. Last night while my husband was giving me my 70th or so shot of Lovenox, he ever so lovingly says “oh look, your belly is getting fat”. Um, I’m sorry, what did you say? You better take that back right now. “Why, it is”. Honey, let me explain something to you. Fat is what happens when you sit on the sofa eating bon bons and gorging on fried chicken (no reference to me eating 6 pieces the other night). Fat is not the pooch of a 10 week pregnancy. “Well then what’s happening to your belly if it’s not getting fat” he smirks. It’s growing you jerk! Geeze. Ok I didn’t say jerk but it sounds nicer. Not to brag but I am a very slender person so other than my first pregnancy, it is an anomaly for my husband to see a pooch on me but still, fat. Fat isn’t the word you want to hear while pregnant. You’re already struggling with what to wear to hide your 10 week pooch since you haven’t told a soul you that you are expecting. Nothing fits and anything you can squeeze into that morning starts popping at the seams after your first meal of the day. He really needs to read one of the many books I’ve piled on his side of the bed.