I am one of the whiniest pregnant women on the planet. At least, according to DH I am. Which leads me to wonder, how many pregnant women has he known other than me? Scratch that, how many women has he knocked up and lived with, other than me?

I know other mommies-to-be will moan and complain to each other about the trails and tribulations of pregnancy. That's because we understand each other. Our hubbies just roll their eyes, either say nothing or say completely the wrong thing, and go about their lives.

The other night, DH was trying to make up a grocery list and asked me if having chicken for dinner twice this week would be ok. I said sure, chicken's fine.

Apparently, that was not said with the amount of enthusiasm he was expecting. He got all huffy and started complaining that I don't give him enough input, and asking why do I have to be so difficult.

This confused me, as all I'd said was that chicken was fine with me. I'm sorry, but I simply cannot muster up any enthusiasm over the idea of eating the same food we've been eating for months. In fact, for the most part, I can't muster up much enthusiasm over the idea of eating at all! This is what confuses him. I tried to explain that eating 70 times a day leaves me feeling fat, bloated, and exhausted. I hate having to eat all the time, I hate not having enough variety, and I'm just sick of it full-stop. Which leads him to the conclusion, yet again, that I am the whiniest pregnant person in the history of EVER.

I'd love it so much if men could get pregnant, and see how they feel about it. Let's see how they like having to eat 70 times a day (they'd probably love it). Let's see how much they like not being able to get to sleep for hours on end, and then when they do, only get to sleep for about half an hour and then have to get up and pee again. Or how about how much they'll just love having a constantly aching back that never feels better, a growing stomach that hurts and a baby kicking their guts to pieces. Perhaps they'll love the swollen fingers and feet, the lack of clothing options, the lack of energy or ambition to do anything.

... or maybe I really am just the whiniest pregnant person on the planet.