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Dear Husband,

As you may have surmised by the sudden explosion of pink and red paraphernalia in the windows of most every store you’ve passed recently, it’s Valentine’s Day again. I realize that this holiday (yes, it’s a real holiday. Yes, it comes every year) embodies everything that at once alarms and appalls you; i.e., stuffed teddy bears, puppies, cows, pigs and various other creatures holding enlarged plastic hearts, things covered in bows and ribbons and glitter, verbalizing your emotions, the color pink. And while I don’t need a plush frog holding a bag of M&Ms to be reassured of your love (although does one ever need an excuse for M&Ms?), Valentine’s Day can be an opportunity to show your loved one, with only a small gesture, just how much you care. I know that navigating this dense jungle of cardboard Cupids and chocolate hearts will seem a daunting, insurmountable task. So I have compiled these suggestions to help guide you through this tricky labyrinth. Being five and a half months pregnant means I’ve had to adjust the standard rules ever so slightly. Think of this as your Roadmap to Romance with a Pregnancy Detour.

Perhaps other couples’ romantic holiday will include things like a candlelit dinner in fancy clothes, champagne, roses, chocolate-covered strawberries and maybe even some little lacy number (and I don’t mean the dinner napkins). And maybe a year ago, that would have been a fairly accurate description of our night. But as you have come to the sneaking suspicion, pregnancy can change a few things.

For starters, I think we have some candles in the junk drawer—underneath the AAA batteries, behind some take out menus. Although, it is hard to pry that drawer open all the way since it has become a black hole sucking every extemporaneous household item into its bottomless vortex. Plus, it’s still fairly light outside when we have dinner at 4:30 (so I can be tucked into bed by 7:15), and we might fall asleep with them lit and burn the house down. Which leads me to…

You might be wondering why I have started what seems to be a small, yet comprehensive collection of personal parachutes. These are my maternity underwear. You may remember a drawer full of colorful, silky garments with lace and bows, and definitely less material than it takes to cover a car. These have been carefully stowed away for the next nine to twelve months. In the meantime, take solace in the fact that should a small house fire break out, I could land us safely on the street from the second story window.

And yes, I know there was a time when I wore more fitted, appealing outfits with such extravagances like zippers and buttons, instead of my recent attire, which resembles a somewhat effeminate truck driver uniform. I sense this new look may have begun to frighten you. Rest assured there is still a female underneath the shapeless sweat-suit who will eventually return to her normal self. In the meantime, when I stomp around the house wailing that I have begun to look like a large wildebeest on the African plains, be advised there is no correct response to appease me. Although I love you for trying.

As of late, there are very few foods that do not cause my stomach and chest to burn with the fury of Hades, nor can I go too long without making a trip to the ladies room. In fact, often the urgency for the ladies room overpowers my actual ability to hold it until I get there, making for an awkward and, well, damp situation. Romantic dinners in public settings are indeed now a challenging task. So no reservations at the Chateau l’expahn-seeve for now.

“Well, what’s left?” you ask. “What romantic gesture can I make when you’ve vetoed all my usual go-to’s?”

Dear loving husband, my ultimate romantic dream, the thing that would ignite the flames of passion, would be if you would remember to put your toothbrush in the toothbrush holder, so that the toothpaste does not smear all over the sink, mirror, walls, floors, dogs, etc. Or, if you would remember to throw your dirty socks in the hamper so the dogs don’t eat them and have to go to the emergency vet at 3 am…again. Then after the toothbrushes and the socks are put away, we could order pizza, sip some sparkling cider and watch Wheel of Fortune. What the heck-it’s Valentine’s Day-I’ll stay up past 7:30pm! And that Pat Sajak is awfully witty.

But, do feel free to bring the chocolate-covered strawberries. Actually, chocolate covered anythings. Meet you on the couch!

Your loving wife.

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