Swings

The other night I slept on the couch. Carrie and I got into a fight and she couldn’t stand to be in the same room as me.

I really don’t blame her. You see, I did the most messed up thing a husband can do.

I kissed another woman.

In Las Vegas.

At Richie’s Bachelor Party.

Which is interesting because the bachelor party is three months in the future.

If you’re doing the math that means I slept on the sofa the other night for something she IMAGINED might happen in three months. And for the record I actually traveled to the future to make sure Future Dan didn’t make a mistake and to warn him of the consequences that his actions will have on his past (I know, it didn’t make sense to him either). Anyways, he just spent the whole weekend playing blackjack and drunkenly repeating, “Roads, Marty? Where we’re going we don’t need roads”.

So I’m slowly learning that to a pregnant woman on the downslope of a mood swing, the “guy who gave her morning sickness” should be held accountable for shit he does in her imagination, for shit he does in her dreams, and for shit that his friends do both real and imagined. And frankly, after what I’ve been through, I’m in no position to disagree.

Now, I’ve been through the swings before. We’ve been together for 10 years and I’ve never slept on the sofa. So this was no premenstrual swing. This was a different breed. It was wearing a cape, had a trusty side kick, and when it wasn’t kicking my ass, it had a secret identity.

But you know, they call them mood swings for a reason.

On the good side of the swings Carrie is like super gay for me.

She’s way clingy and it’s kinda scary. I’ll be on the laptop and get startled cause I suddenly notice that she’s one foot away just staring at me. And she’s smiling. Or I’ll be taking a shower and notice she’s waving “hi” to me from the other side of the glass door.

She’ll constantly call me on the phone to ask how I’m doing or when I’m coming home. And it’s not the, “I want to keep track of your whereabouts” type of call, but rather it’s the, “I genuinely miss you” type of call. That’s pretty scary. If we’re driving in the car she’ll randomly say stuff like “I love you so much”. What’s funny is it sounds like she REALLY means it. Again, scary. She’s a love struck thirteen year old without the self-conscious filter that comes with being thirteen.

But at the end of the day I know not to take anything too personally. Commander Carrie’s forced me to read enough prenatal books for me to realize that. I have to admit that being borderline stalked by your wife is pretty nice. As such, I’ve learned to keep my Clingy Carrie memories in my Swing-bank for retrieval in case she gets upset at me for “sweeping the floor wrong”. However I have to be careful. Having a smile on my face while she’s yelling at me will most likely piss her off.