I'll go medieval on yo' .....

Now before you get the wrong idea, I want to make sure you understand my lovely bride is one of the, if not the most, wonderful women on the planet.  But since the arrival of the belly, I am continually surprised by the fact that my wife has been possessed by a 70 year-old man.  Seriously, I’ve never seen her even come close to sitting like that before!  The belching alone makes me do a double take, because frankly she is not nearly big enough to produce sounds of such depth and vibration.  Ironically, the first thing she does accuse me of the aural assault(albeit with a giggle) as if even she can't believe the belly is capable of such a thing.  So I hang my head and say "excuse me".  The funny thing is I am know beginning to think I’m responsible (although Technically I am…) the belly has altered my reality to such an extent, I now think I really need to see my doctor about my gaseous nature.

What really changes your world is what comes out of the two lips that once held me captive with the sweet nothings whispered and gentle kisses.   Now granted, I was somewhat prepared for the short temper, and have even experienced a wee bit-o-that.  The other day I made spaghetti- turkey with a tomato, olives, and garlic sauce, and I did what I thought you were supposed to do with spaghetti sauce- put it on the spaghetti.  Oh, you simple fool, sauce on top of the spaghetti?  Ha Ha Ha!  Surely you fell on your head as a child.  Repeatedly.  The Belly took one look at the bowl, and thrust her hands to her side, face screwed into a mask of utter disgust, and said “YOU KNOW I DON’T LIKE MY SAUCE ON TOP OF MY NOODLES!”  What did I do?  By God I puffed out my chest and in the most macho, swaggering way replied “ I’m sorry, you want me to scrap the sauce off your pasta for you?”  I admit it, I am no match for the belly, I’m not even going to lie. 

Just as shocking is the language that could best be described as somewhere between a sailor and a Quentin Tarantino movie.  A simple response can often be peppered with language that is inconceivably coming out of the sweet little thing you married.  For example, the other day we were preparing to leave for work; I walked into the kitchen where I observed the belly drinking some orange juice.  We were running a little late so I asked the (what I thought was innocent) question "are we ready to leave? Cause, you know, we got to go.”  The belly, without missing a beat, turned to me, and uttered six words to let me know who was in charge around here: "I'm getting my vitamin C, bitch!"  

Belly-1, me-0.