Red Whine

I’m only six weeks pregnant and already I’m feeling mildly frustrated. Last night, James had his usual glass of wine. It hasn’t really bothered me not to drink much, because, really, I don’t feel the need. And I have a very good reason for not drinking. But I have been known enjoy an occasional glass of wine, and I honestly don’t believe that one glass of wine every few weeks is going to do anything to put our baby in danger. Besides, it’s going to get a little more difficult to enjoy a glass of wine, especially in public, the more I start to look like a big fat pregnant lady.

But James doesn’t really seem to be as confident as me that a glass of wine won’t give our baby flipper hands or something. I understand his concern, I do, but really, I’m pretty sure the whole cut back on alcohol thing was meant more for the party girl binge drinker types than for someone like me, who doesn’t even have a glass of wine every day even when we keep it around the house. In my mind, I know that he only has the best intentions, and I should appreciate the fact that he is at all concerned. But last night when he forbid me to have any wine at all until I am in the second trimester, frankly it pissed me off.

I was good, though, I didn’t snap. I calmly read from some of the pregnancy books at my disposal and shared some of the information. None of it changed his mind, though, but instead of flying off the handle, I dropped the subject. He probably doesn’t even realize that I’m still even thinking about it, but he is only a man, after all.

Really, it’s good for him to be protective, and I know that he’s probably worried, like I am, that our baby will have some health and allergy issues like he did and does. I’m sure he just wants to make sure that genetics are the only contributor to any frailness, and not a glass of wine. And I guess I agree with that argument. But I really think that to forbid it the way he did was what got me a little crazy. And because he did that, I’m starting to resent the fact that he can drink and I can’t, which I honestly didn’t think would happen because it really isn’t that big a deal since I haven’t ever been a big drinker. But if he’s going to forbid me and make me feel bad that I can’t drink, then I might have to call on the psycho pregnant lady and have her forbid him from drinking, too. Misery does love company, after all.

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