Feeding

Last night at 3:00 in the morning, Julie got hungry. "Dan? Daaaaaan?" she whispered. When I didn't wake up, she tiptoed downstairs like a child on Christmas morning, located a granola bar, and crept back upstairs and ate it in bed.

I'm so proud of her. I think that's the first food she's gotten for herself in the entire pregnancy.

I'm in trouble now, aren't I. See, here's the deal. I'm a teacher, which means I get home earlier than Julie does. I also have random days off, sometimes weeks, and much of the summer. (Note to those who scoff at the hours of us teachers: suck it.) So anyway, I'm usually the hunter and gatherer. This is especially true during pregnancy. My concern is what happens when Julie is home for 16 weeks fending for herself and the kid.

Well, the kid will be fine. She'll have two mommy spigots to latch onto. But Julie will need some help if she's expected to feed herself too. Seriously. Take a girl who doesn't normally cook, and suddenly make her do it while simultaneously caring for an infant. Breakfast and lunch...she'll need some on-the-job training, I fear.

Perhaps I'll help Julie establish a series of breakfast and lunch menus and write a spreadsheet of what foods she'll need in the house. What am I saying? She'll be fine. Maybe I'm just overcompensating for the whole birthing ordeal that I will not have to go through. I need to be useful, you know? It'll be easier to stand in that delivery room like an idiot if I ensure that things will run smoothly once we come home.