Everybody was kung fu fighting

The other day I was speaking with a colleague who recently had a baby. He said that the point where I am in my pregnancy, 24 weeks, was about the same time that his wife was completely stressed. Me, stressed? Oh, you have got to be kidding!! J Bo is a mellow girl who takes everything in stride and looks to the positive. (Stop laughing, Mom.) What could I possibly be stressed about? Could I be feeling any pressure at all while at work, knowing that my business is responsible for 24% of the company's total revenue? Nah! That one's easy- peasy! What about the fact that I am bringing another life form into this world in less than 4 months and I have done nothing with my home to make it baby ready? How do I prepare the dogs? What about arranging child care for when I return to work? Again, it'll be a cake walk. I can handle it. Um. Yeah.

Recently, I started taking Tae Kwon Do lessons and the kicking and punching was really helping keep the stress levels in check. For every roundhouse and axe kick I did, I was letting go of the anxiety that had mounted that day, or that week. For every punch and block, I was conquering the unknown of what the impending life change would do to me. I can win this battle. Tae Kwon Do is hard on a body, especially on one that was initially overweight and out of shape. Add in pregnancy and this equation adds up to equal agony and pain. I haven't been to class in the last eight days and my husband has now replaced the dojang's sparring pads. Pressure is mounting, I've begun to let off steam, venting my hot gasses onto my husband. This venting comes in the form of order barking and demands peppered into day to day conversations and hallway passings.

My husband is doing his best to deal. He, too, has been going to Tae Kwon Do and will actually be belt testing in the next week. In addition to this outlet, he bikes to work everyday, peddling away additional stress. He understands that my body is not able to take on the rigorous exercise that his can and thus he has been doing his best to be the husband on egg shells, not wanting to add any fuel to the fires burning inside of his wife, since I can't beat it out of the punching bag at class. (While I could beat on him and rack it up to 'sparring', we agreed that that we would never fight each other, unless it was for a gold medal, or a new iPod, or some other fabulous prize.)

Last night we were watching a movie when he decided to fix himself a sandwich. He returned to the tv room with what looked like 2 steak subs on his plate. Rather than wait for me to ask for a bite- which usually turns into him going back upstairs to fix me whatever snack he has decided to enjoy- he was a) proactive in making *2* sandwiches and b) asked me if I wanted a bite.

"You want a bite of my pastrami sandwich? In fact, I made two if you want one."

"What? What are you talking about? When have I EVER liked pastrami?" I reply with much hostility. I start to get mad. For one, we have never had pastrami in the house and for two, isn't that like some sort of pork product? He knows the only form of pork I consume is that of a chop, or a breakfast sausage. Does he not know me well? I then begin to raise my voice, "And what are you doing making PASTRAMI? When have you ever eaten PASTRAMI? When have *I* ever eaten PASTRAMI? WHEN? HUH?"

"Hey, I was just being nice in offering you a bite. And it was back in 1998 that you ate a pastrami sandwich. I happened to be at Costco the other day and this meat was an impulse buy. It really is good, if you want a bite."

"NO!! I DON'T EAT PASTRAMI!! AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WERE AT COSTCO AND THIS WAS AN IMPULSE BUY?!! YOU FORGOT THE PAPERTOWELS AND DIDN'T GET ME ONE THOSE CHEESECAKES I LOVE, BUT YOU BOUGHT PASTRAMI? PASTRAMI?"

"Look, why do you have to turn this into a fight? I told you before I was just being nice and you can't even acknowledge that? Have a bite of PASTRAMI!"

"NOOOOOOO!!! I WILL NOT EAT PASTRAMI!! AND IF YOU WERE BEING NICE, YOU WOULD HAVE BROUGHT DOWN SOMETHING THAT I LIKE TO EAT!! DON'T TALK TO ME ANYMORE."

We left the conversation there, went on with the movie, then I fell asleep on the couch and he went upstairs to bed. This morning, I was doing laundry when I realized that we were out of laundry soap. I had to shake and shake the liquid container to get out the last drops of soap, all the while yelling, "YOU WENT TO COSTCO FOR PASTRAMI AND FORGOT THE LAUNDRY SOAP, TOO????!!!!"

He tried to ignore me and then came downstairs to reason with me; he let me know he forgot the soap and *I* said I would pick some up from Target. But then I was all in his face with, "No, I told you that they didn't have our soap at Target the other day before I left for Denver and you were all, OK. Remember? REMEMBER?!!" I then open the dryer to find my clothes inside- some of which should never go in the dryer. "What are my clothes doing in the dryer? And these tops? They can't be dried! And on the highest cotton setting? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!!"

My poor husband. He said he was just trying to be nice and take care of my laundry while I was away. And of course, me still riding my wave of stress, shout, "When have you ever done my laundry? And if you ever are to do it, you know, you KNOW to ask me what can be put in the dryer and what can't. Have we not done this for, OH, THE PAST 13 YEARS?!! YOU KNOW THERE ARE CERTAIN PIECES OF CLOTHING WHICH DO NOT GO IN THE DRYER...AND YOU KNOW THAT I DO NOT EAT PASTRAMI!!!!"

He left me in the laundry room of the basement with my anger, honestly, because he was trying not to laugh at me. I mean, c'mon. I was fighting about PASTRAMI and I tried to turn it into my deeper fear that the man I love has no clue what I want and what makes me happy. I eventually apologized later this morning- he made waffles, by the way- and he promised never, ever, ever to bring pastrami into our relationship.

And I need to get back to the dojang. Who knows what is going to set me off next!