Nick assembled the crib last night. Technically, I COULD say that WE assembled the crib last night, but he did the majority of thinking and attaching. I just stood there and held things up, lowered when he needed things lowered, and so on and so forth. Sometimes, I think that that job sucks even more than reading the instructions and doing the physical labor.

But, given that I can barely bend over to pick up a sock, I left the labor to the father-to-be.

Along with the bouncer, swing, play palace, and bringing in the bassinette, stroller, and car seat, Nick has been a MACHINE with getting things ready for Isaiah. As for me, I continue to poke my index finger into his shoulder blade at night and whisper, “Don’t forget that we still need to ____, and ______, and buy ______, and pick-up ______, and figure out _____. Oh, and we still haven’t decided how we’re going to handle ______ or who’s going to ______ …

Nick’s response is always the same: a very sleepy arm throws itself around my very large belly and he mutters, “Ok, babe, we’ll take care of it this weekend.”

And then he talks to his son, “Isaiah, take care of your mom. She’s freaking out.”