You’ve got to love your husband. He has sex, he has an orgasm, ejaculates and nine months later calls himself Dad. You have sex, probably without an orgasm; for the next thirty minutes you lie propped up on a pillow with your legs in the air, hoping his sperm will make its way up the cervical canal and meet up with your egg, and then you wait anxiously until you can take a pregnancy test to find out whether in nine months you’ll be able to call yourself Mom. Of course, all of this assumes you had planned to get pregnant in the first place.
But that’s just the tip of the iceberg, right? You spend the next few months nauseated, vomiting and eating saltines. All the while, he takes clients to four-star restaurants and eats four-course meals. While your body contorts into different shapes, his body stays exactly the same. Maybe he gains a few pity pounds—but for the most part, you’re on your own.