It was a dark and stormy night. Okay, well maybe it wasn't stormy but it was dark and it was night. Zack and I were sound asleep in our double bed, foregoing any snuggling because I was something like 56 weeks pregnant with Garrett. A belly that looked similar to this...
and a double bed simply didn't lend themselves to snuggling. Anyway, I digress.
At some point, probably right in the midst of precious REM sleep, a jolting sensation rapidly awoke the both of us. Zack, in his grogginess (have I mentioned it takes him a good long while to wake up?) reached over, patted the bed and finding me still there said, "Oh, I thought you'd fallen out of the bed." Niiiicccceeee! It's always wonderful to learn that a literal shaking of the foundation of your home is thought by your husband to be the result of your pregnant girth hitting the floor. No, it wasn't me falling out of the bed; turns out it was a Southern California earthquake!
I think I'll choose to forget this story from here on out. It can't be good for me to dwell on the fact that at 36+ weeks of pregnancy Zack thought my weight great enough to shake our entire house, right? Yes, this I will forget. Hmm, if only I can also forget the following comment by the same dear man during the same pregnancy, "Wow, you're like two feet wide!"
The damage runs deep, I tell ya!