Wife Rule #15: Pregnancy is Beautiful

I wanted to title this rule "Big is Beautiful," but then I thought about other possible interpretations of that phrase and how I like to sleep next to my wife in bed, rather than on the couch. So I have chosen the less controversial title.

My wife is nearly eight months pregnant. She is taller than most women, so she has a little more room inside her torso to squish up before her belly pops out. However, at this stage in the pregnancy, she has long since hung up her normal wardrobe in favor of her extra-curvy one. She's moved fully into the stretch-fabric and large-elastic-waist-band phase. She doesn't love these clothes; she sort of puts up with them as comfort and survival become the primary objective for the last few months.

The funny thing is, I love the way she looks when she's pregnant. Not only do I find her clothes attractive, but everything about her. She's never more beautiful than when her body is undergoing the marvelous changes that eventually culminate in bringing another child into our family. She has a serene (she might say "tired") glow about her. Everything seems to soften a little bit. I love the look in her eyes when she talks about the baby. I love the way she looks when she's asleep, which I get to see a little more often during pregnancy. And I really love her cute profile, with that baby sticking out to be seen by the world. I love it all.

And having been through this four times before, I anticipate her most beautiful look yet. It's the one she has on her face right after giving birth, when the baby is placed in her arms for the first time. This is one of those times when the ordeal she just passed through has made pretense impossible and stripped away any conscious concern for outward appearance. What's left over is the real, natural beauty that my wife is made of. Her expression is a combination of great relief, parental pride, unconditional love, unabashed adoration, and finally, sublime serenity. I always take a picture of her in this state after each child is born--she is too tired to protest. I treasure those photos, but they always fall way short of capturing the moment. The true essence of these glorious events can only be etched in my heart, where these happy memories will always be.

I'm definitely ready for another.