Christie's in the middle of her eighth month, now, and I think it's as good a time as any for me to praise her to the skies. When I hurt my finger a couple of years ago, I was sidelined for a couple of months, with near constant pain, I couldn't do what I wanted to, and I was on drugs all the time. And, damn, did I get cranky.
Christie, on the other hand, has had seven and a half months of hormone changes, an acrobatic fetus, near constant discomfort, insomnia, hip pain, and a weight on her belly like a backpack you can't take off. Seriously. The last time I did a hike with a pack that weighed what her uterus does, I thought I was going to die.
Her body is literally no longer her own, and that comes with frequent doctor appointments, strangers asking intimate questions, and other indignities I will not go into, but which every woman who's ever been pregnant knows about.
Through all of this, I can count exactly two freakouts, and one of those was spider-related, so it might not have been entirely pregnancy-related (there's a history there).
Ladies and gentlemen, my wife is a superhero.