The Eskimo and I

I've determined that my wife being pregnant is turning her into an Eskimo. An Eskimo that enjoys spending time in a sauna.

Now since the wife says I tend exaggerate and if I've told her one I've told her a million times I'm not embellishing these stories one bit. So I figured it best to give y'all some background information. When it comes to indoor temperatures I like to keep it fairly constant, in the warmer months the thermostat is set on 70°, in the cooler months somewhere between 67° and 70°.

The girls (and by girls I mean programmers and by programmers I mean smelly computer geeks) at the office are constantly fussing about it being to cold. I of course laugh and tell'em if they had a normal diet, something other than Cheetos, Coffee and energy drinks, their bodies would function normally.

It seems however, that learning first hand what they're always bitching about. As the lovely bride's time of being "with child" has progressed her sense of comfortable temperatures has also managed to take some pretty wild swings and they're only getting more erratic. One minute she's donned clothes enough to face sub-arctic temperatures, two minutes later she's stripped down to shorts and a t-shirt and is talking about it being hotter than forty hells. All the while I'm sitting on the couch, eating Cheetos and drinking a Rockstar energy drink, wondering if she's going to find a happy medium, temperature wise.

The past several nights the happy medium has been found. It's called she controls the thermostat. When we've gone anywhere she's cranked the heat up in the Oto-mo-biiile so high I'm sweating like its mid-July in Death Valley as she shivers along. As soon as we reach the house, she's hot, it's winter and we're running the A/C. When the icicles start forming in places where icicles ought not be its just too damned cold.

When I start bitching she of course plays the whole I'm pregnant with YOUR child card. Right like that's gonna have any, hey wait a second it works every time. Damn, I'm so easily manipulate and you wimmins are so damned crafty.

Thus as a prospective father I'll begin prematurely by blaming the boy. I'm pretty sure Junior's going to have a great since of humor and will be mechanically inclined as he's already having a field day toying with her internal thermostat. I've asked Junior to leave her thermostat alone, begged even, yet it appears he'll have her ability to listen as I've been repeatedly ignored. Of course my life of requesting Junior stop fooling with the Thermostat and anything else he's not supposed to play with is probably just beginning.

Note to the Parental Units: You may stop giggling at any moment now, it really ain't that funny, I'm DYING OVER HERE, there's frostbite even.

Posted by phineas g. at 11:48 PM on December 02, 2005 | TrackBack

From her perspective: Blood volume is up 50%. Hormones are raging nonstop. Control of her own body has been subjugated by a tenant -- much like a little parasite (albeit much wanted and loved, etc. etc.) -- and all bodily functions are remote-controlled by said parasite. And there you sit. . .with your Rockstar and Cheetoes. Blithely unaware of the RIOT going on inside of her body. . .

Dear Phin: Get a parka, kid. It's only gonna get worse.


Posted by: Margi at December 3, 2005 12:58 AM

Per Margi's suggestion, Landsend has a nice selection of parkas you can choose from.

Posted by: seawitch at December 3, 2005 01:18 AM

Anybody know where I can pick up some polar fleece boxers?

Posted by: phin at December 3, 2005 01:25 AM

That is a very apt description from Miss Margi. Parasite with a remote control. AND it's a boy!

Posted by: Sadie at December 3, 2005 02:14 AM

hehehehe...I love Margi's take on things, and that Sadie pointed out we are indeed talking about a boy! I get the feeling he's going to take after his daddy...

Posted by: Theresa at December 3, 2005 08:04 AM

I would suggest perusing They should have all you need.

Even a tent, for that 8th and a half month period when she screams YOU DID THIS TO ME YOU BASTARD!!! and throws you out of the house for the night.

They also have two man arctic sleeping bags, for when she comes out to your tent sobbing two minutes later.

They also sell things to defend yourself with, when, 30 seconds after snuggling in the sleeping bad, you tell her you love her and she says "LOVE ME? HOW COULD YOU LOVE ME WHEN YOU DID THIS TO ME???"

Hormones are a tricky thing, my man. Tread carefully...

Posted by: Vinnie at December 3, 2005 06:50 PM

er, sleeping bag, not bad.

Lesson to the uninitiated, don't drink and comment.

Posted by: Vinnie at December 3, 2005 06:51 PM

Has she yelled, "You and your DAMN sperm!" just yet?

I did that a lot.

Posted by: Sadie at December 3, 2005 07:24 PM