" Jack was frowning darkly. A couple of the brothers-in-law, Dan and Ryan, came forward and said, “Need a hand unloading, Jack?” “Yeah,” he said, his brows drawn together. “What’s the problem?” Ryan asked. “I said exactly those two words to her—huge and waddle—and she was very pissed about it.” The men laughed. Bob clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Come, my brother. Let’s get you unloaded, get you a beer and teach you the facts of life. Out back, where men will be men and the women won’t hear us.” Outside on the patio, now too cold for picnicking, there were a couple of large space heaters thoughtfully provided by Sam, who knew the men of the family would want their beer and cigars without interference. And where Sam also wanted to be, while his daughters overran his house and bossed people around. With Mel and Joey, there were six, not to mention granddaughters—a formidable and intimidating group of women. It was there that Jack learned from the experience of four brothers-in-law and the occasional comment from Sam, that if having children was a partners’ project, pregnancy was definitely a team sport. The women were the ones who knew the rules. What a man said and what girlfriends or sisters said were viewed from entirely different perspectives. If your sister said you were huge, it was a badge of honor. If your husband said that, he thought you were fat. If your best friend said you waddled, it was adorable. If your husband said that, he thought you walked funny and he no longer found you attractive. “And look out,” said Joey’s husband, Bill, father of three, “if you try to make love to her, she thinks you’re a pervert, and if you don’t, she’ll accuse you of no longer finding her desirable as she sacrifices herself to bear your child.” “The last time we had sex, instead of crying out ‘Oh, God, Oh, God,’ she said ‘Ugh.’” Ryan spewed out a mouthful of beer and fell into a fit laughter. “Been there, brother,” he finally choked out. “You wanna know what’s coming, or you wanna be surprised?” Bob asked. “Oh, please, I can’t take any more surprises,” Jack said. “Okay, you’re coming up on where you love the baby more than her. Everything is about the baby—you consider her your brood mare.” “What do you do about that?” “Well, for starters, never talk about breeding.” “Grovel,” said someone else. “Beg for forgiveness.” “But don’t trip yourself up and claim she’s way more important than the baby, which brings you a whole new set of problems.” “Aw, Jesus.” “And since you don’t have the big belly and the backache, it would be advisable not to mention that this is all completely natural. She might deck you.” “You’d think a frickin’ midwife could rise above these ridiculous notions.” “Oh, it’s not her fault. There was an estrogen explosion in there—it’s beyond her control.” “You want to be especially careful about admiring her breasts,” Jeannie’s husband, Dan, said. He took a pull on his cigar. “Especially since they’re, you know, only temporary.” “God, that’s gonna be so hard. Because—” “I know.” Someone else laughed. “Aren’t they great?” “Pretty soon there’s going to be labor and delivery,” Bill said. “And the love of your life, whose back you’re trying to rub and whom you’re doing everything in your power to encourage, to keep comfortable, is going to tell you to shut up and get your fucking hands off her.” Everyone laughed so hard at that, even Sam, that it appeared to be a universal fact. “Dad,” Jack said, stunned. “Did Mom ever say fuck?” Sam drew leisurely on his cigar. “I think about five times,” he replied, throwing the men into a new fit of laughter. “Why doesn’t anyone tell you these things before?” Jack asked. “What difference would it have made, Jack? You didn’t know you were about to score a pregnancy, anyway. I know, I know—you thought you knew everything there was to know about women. Turns out you’re just as stupid as the rest of us.” A "
― Robyn Carr , Shelter Mountain (Virgin River, #2)