30 weeks

Something else is growing along with my waistline... my er, amorousness. At first Chip was excited about my voracious appetite, but now he is taking great care to avoid eye contact. “You’re killing me!” he groans whenever I’m ready for another round. In a classic case of role-reversal, now he’s the one claiming a headache.

My unwieldiness isn’t helping matters. It’s the beginning of winter, and I haven’t been in the sun for a while, so I look like a beluga whale. No man in his right mind finds a beluga whale attractive. So while my libido is at an all-time high, Chip’s has taken a hiatus.

This morning was a particularly rocky one for us in the bedroom. I finally coaxed (okay, begged) Chip into having a go at things, but the awkwardness of my extra bulk kept getting in the way.

Men have a hard time multitasking as it is, so asking one to keep his fervor and excitement level up while balancing a pregnant woman is nearly impossible. Plus, today I was in a fit of giggles and it just wasn't funny to Chip AT ALL. He couldn’t see the humor in it—again, it meant asking his brain to do more than one thing at once, to switch from “I’m a serious, passionate guy who will absolutely die if I don’t have you right now” to “ha, ha, isn’t this hilarious”—and we both ended up frustrated in every sense of the word.

What a horrible time to turn into Don Juanita.