Beauty and The Plug

Kim had been holding me very tightly but now pushed me back some.

"Ewwww, I can't believe you would say that," she declared. "Ewwww, that's gross." Then she hit me on the arm. "Ewwww," she added a third time.

Kim stared -- rather hard -- at me for a minute or two then gave me the most innocent, sweetest little smile before putting her arms back around me and hugging me very tightly.

She then shifted her weight, pushed off with her feet and the next thing I know we were both falling -- fully clothed -- into the pool.

My hand-made, custom-made Italian shoes hit the bottom of the pool first, but they were followed very closely by Kim's Christian Dior dress. That was followed by my custom-tailored Armani suit slowly sinking beneath the water, which was then followed by Kim's thong underwear and my boxers.

A few minutes later as Kim's cries of passion were turning into screams I couldn't help but think about what Megan had said after she picked us up at the airport.

"You know, in the past month I have developed a new habit with the two of you gone," she said. "It's called sleeping all night without screams keeping me awake. I wonder how much longer I'll be able to keep that habit?"

"Sorry Megan," I thought as I began thrusting even harder inside my beautiful and pregnant wife.

Eight Months Later

I honestly don't think I have ever been as tired in my life -- nor as excited and happy.

First, let me explain the tired. It had been one of my worst days ever at work. We were under a very tight time frame for having a job printed, collated, numbered and delivered.

Then two of my printers went to lunch and were involved in a traffic accident.

I ended up having to run their presses in order to complete the job and didn't get home until nearly midnight. And that was after arriving at work at 6 am.

An hour after getting home I was sitting on the couch with Kim when she said, "John, it's time."

I thought she meant it was time to go to bed.

Wrong!

We had rehearsed everything beforehand. I immediately ran into the bedroom and grabbed the pre-packed suitcase, ran out to the SUV, threw the suitcase in and jumped in and started the drive to the hospital.

By the time I reached the end of my driveway I realized it was awfully quiet inside the vehicle.

Backed up the entire length of the driveway, picked up Kim and Megan and drove rather calmly to the hospital. The wrong hospital. Then had to drive like a maniac to get to the correct hospital.

My father once told me the worst experience in his life was seeing me born. And he really didn't mean that in a bad way.

When both of my older brothers were born it was in the days when husbands dropped their wives off, then spent the rest of the time in the waiting room.

Dad said he actually was asleep on a chair in the waiting room for both of their births. The nurses had to wake him up to tell him he was a father.

Fifteen years after the birth of his first son, when I came along, things were more "progressive."

Which meant fathers got to suffer along with their wives.

I now know what he meant.

Kim said she wanted to go through "natural child birth" in order to "experience the joy of giving birth," without her feelings be dulled through the use of medications.

Next time -- if there is a next time -- I plan on insisting that anesthetics AND a spinal be administered. And I mean for ME! If we ever go through this again, I want to be almost comatose.

I think there is a very good chance I will have to get a hearing aid . . . maybe two. I thought I knew how vocal Kim was. I was wrong! Have you ever stood inches away from a military fighter jet as its engines kick into full afterburner mode?

The doctor also said that in a few days feelings should return in my left hand. That was the hand Kim squeezed through each and every contraction . . . for 15 hours.

I never knew how strong Kim was.

I quickly learned that all the breathing exercises Kim and I had gone through in the months leading up to the delivery . . . they didn't do a damn thing. Well, that perhaps is not quite true. They did allow me to gauge with complete precision, exactly when my hand and fingers would be squeezed to a bloody pulp.

"Breathe, Kim," I would say when she felt a contraction coming on, and she would respond with "Uhhh, Uhhhh, Uhhhhh, Uhhhhhh, Uhhhhhhh, Uhhhhhhh." On the sixth breath, or "Uhhhhhhhhh," my hand and fingers would be crushed.

I also found out that while it is considered completely normal for the woman to scream as often, and as loud as she wanted to . . . they frown on it when the guy screams as his fingers are being reduced to jelly.

"Suck it up, big boy," the head nurse told me with a glare, then looked at my t-shirt. "I thought Marines were supposed to be tough."

"Yea, don't be such a wimp, Daddy," Megan added. Megan was on the other side of the bed, holding Kim's other hand and yet somehow never got her fingers squeezed even slightly.

Hey, in my Marine Corps days I could march 20 miles carrying a full pack and rifle (about 100 pounds worth), and was ready to shoot or be shot at, and ready to deal with improvised explosive devices (IEDs) or your average run of the mill insurgent or terrorist.

None of that prepares you for near-homicidal pregnant women going through the "joys of natural child birth."

Well, terrorist comes close, but that's about all.

The doctor also said not to worry about some of the names Kim called me during those contractions. Mutherfuckingsonofabitch is apparently a term of endearment for women who are having contractions.

I was also told to just ignore any threats . . . implied or specific . . . made during those contractions. They said Kim "would probably forget" about any of those threats.

I certainly hope so. Now if only I could forget.

Especially the one that went, "You mutherfuckingsonofabitch, if you ever stick that thing in me again and make me go through this again I'll break it off and shove it up your mutherfuckingsonofabitch ass."

Megan laughed. The head nurse laughed even harder. Even the doctor, a woman, laughed.

And Kim once told me she wanted one or two more, as in "one or two dozen?"

I'll never live through near that many.

I mean I almost died two weeks ago. Every day, as soon as I got home Kim and I would go on long walks through our neighborhood, waving at our neighbors . . . including Ralph, the old, fat gay guy next door who always smiles at us, waves and then gives me a "thumbs up." It kind of creeps me out but Kim has really gotten very fond of him.

Two or three times a week Ralph would bring Kim freshly baked cookies, or a pie or a cake, along with beautiful, freshly cut flowers from his huge backyard greenhouse. We also have fresh, home-grown tomatoes year round, along with cucumbers, squash and other fresh vegetables.

Anyway, the doctor told us how helpful those long walks would be for Kim, and to tell you the truth I absolutely loved going on walks with this beautiful woman.

Kim had gained about 35 pounds during the pregnancy (partly due to too many cookies, pies and cakes. "Thanks a LOT, Ralph."). About two weeks ago, while we were walking, she started complaining.

"I walk like a duck," she lamented.

I immediately told her how wrong she was, how beautiful she was, how proud of her I was and how much I loved her and loved walking with her, holding hands.

If I had stopped there, everything would have been fine. Unfortunately my weird sense of humor chose to rear its ugly head at exactly the wrong moment.

"Besides," I said, "ducks don't waddle that much."

Oh, come on. That was funny. Unless you are eight and a half months pregnant and walk like a duck.

I am sure that -- someday in the future -- Kim will look back and laugh. Perhaps not the immediate future, but sometime in the next 20 . . . or 30 . . . years.

Yes, I lived through that . . . I'm still not sure how. But Kim did forgive me which can only be a tribute to how wonderful, loving and gracious this woman can be.

Megan still hasn't forgiven me for that comment and tells me each day what a complete idiot and asshole I am for making it.

If it were up to Megan I would be spending the next year sleeping on the couch.

Because of her modeling I have, in the past few years, either while Kim was semi-living with us before Mary's death, or while she was in college, or after she moved in for a year after graduation seen thousands of photos of Kim.

In the past few years I have seen Kim modeling lingerie, bikinis and all kinds of other clothes. I have seen Kim wearing bikinis or lingerie, not modeling, but for me. I have seen Kim naked, up close and personal.

As I have said before, she is an extraordinarily beautiful woman.

Just minutes after the birth of the twins, Kaitlyn and Jessica (we both hated cutesy, rhyming names), Kim was exhausted. She didn't have any makeup on, had dark circles under her eyes, her face was streaked with sweat and her hair was an absolute mess.

Then she looked at me, holding both of our precious girls in my arms and smiled and said, "I love you John, always have, and always will."

That one moment is, to me, the most beautiful Kim has ever been.

She would probably kill me if I ever told her that, but in that one glance I felt the love in my heart for this incredible woman grow more than I would have thought possible.

How can you think you love anyone with every fiber of your being, then suddenly that love grows a hundred-fold or a thousand-fold?

That is Kim, the woman I love.

And THANK GOD the twins look like Kim, not me.

I just hope they don't walk like ducks.