Changes

A few weeks ago, Michael announced that he was going to grow out his facial hair until out baby arrived. I took it as a joke, but when he began announcing it every morning, I became concerned. Don't get me wrong, he looks good with facial hair. But if his intention was to let the forest run wild without any trimming or pruning for the next two months, I had significant concern for our child. I couldn't see Michael looking like Grizzy Adams when our son arrived in this world, only to shave it off and have our son wonder who the strange, smooth-faced man was. I pictured our baby screaming every time shaven Michael went to pick him up, and he would have to be handed over to his mother, every time, because of stranger anxiety.

Okay, okay, I know that stranger anxiety does not kick in for several months down the road, but I was just wincing at the idea of watching food and small creatures becoming trapped in that bushel. Why on earth would Michael want to go that long without shaving or even trimming?

But then one day, when pondering my growing belly, I suddenly understood. I turned to my husband. "I get it! I totally get it. By growing a beard, that is a physical change that you can undergo day by day until the baby gets here. It's, like, totally symbolic!" Michael gave me a wink and a nod along with a smoking gun Shooter-McGavin (Happy Gilmore, anyone?) that confirmed my epiphany.

When out shopping, we stopped for lunch at Subway. Michael said, "I love being out with my pregnant wife!" And I realized that I am blessed to be a woman. It is pretty cool to be the one experiencing pregnancy. Michael is just as excited and giddy as I am, but he can't silently share it with everyone who walks past. Me, I just show up and people know I'm pregnant. I confess, it is kinda cool. As we walked in the mall, Michael said, "aren't you just loving this?!" "Loving what?," I asked, not quick to agree with him on a full bladder and sore back. "Every woman is just beaming at you. Every single one of them!" I looked up and sure enough, it was true. I wish I could take Michael with me wherever I went so that he could share in the joy of strangers.

Since the initial vows of facial hair overgrowth, Michael has nearly shaved it all off out of annoyance. I must admit, watching the goatee serve as a milk-catcher at breakfast was a little nauseating. But I encouraged him to simply trim it up a bit, which he has agreed to do, and I must say that his own physical change during pregnancy is quite becoming on him.