During a pregnancy, people tend to focus on the woman. How’s she feeling, how she looks, helping her prepare for motherhood. But I feel like the husband (if he’s a good one!) is affected almost as much as the woman.

Since I’ve gotten pregnant and have been dealing with a lot of nausea and exhaustion, Luke has taken on a ton. He’s been cooking my meals – including breakfast in bed many mornings, grocery shopping, make sure I take my prenatals (they make me sick), cleaning and just generally helping me with what I need to feel better. The man is seriously a saint.

His application for saint-hood was amplified last weekend, when we had to deal with one of life’s terrible necessities – MOVING. Ugh.

After nine long months of waiting for our short sale offer to go through, we decided to call it quits and backed out of the deal. It just wasn’t meant to be, which was made clear when the seller told us it wasn’t anywhere close to being approved by the second bank.

Anyway, we found a really nice rental house (here’s a photo)…

Last weekend we bit the bullet and moved for the fifth time in two years (no joke!). Normally I can help out quite a bit with packing, moving and unpacking, but this time I was so exhausted, couldn’t lift much and was still feeling ill, so Luke had to do the majority of it alone.

What could have turned into a situation where he felt resentful, angry and frustrated was flipped into one where he was “getting some good exercise.” He seriously never complained once and kept telling me to go lie down and that he had it covered. I kept saying I felt bad that I was only 1/4 of a mover, but he insisted I was “helping him a lot” even though we both knew that was a joke.

I’m happy to report that after two long days of moving,  we’re all settled in our new home for the next year, the nursery is empty waiting to be decorated and Luke’s sore muscles are easing. Just in time for a relaxing, long weekend at home.

And I’m still the luckiest girl I know.