Wimps

"I'm dying!" Eric said, sneezing for fifth time, starting to cough. He was laying on the sofa.

A male with a flu is just overgrown baby.

Calleigh scoffed at him from the recliner across the room. She wasn't in the mood for a man whining about sniffles and coughing. She had real complaints; her ankles were swollen, her back hurt and she had to pee every twenty minutes. Not to mention she couldn't see her feet anymore and finding a comfortable sleeping position was impossible. She was thirty weeks pregnant; the doctor said she hoped Calleigh would carry till thirty-six weeks otherwise the baby would be premature.

"It's just the flu. Grow up! I'm the one who should be whining," she said to her husband. "God, you men are such wimps! You try going through half of this."

Eric smiled despite his wife's tone and mood.

Ouch, he thought. Frank was right, never whine about the flu to a very pregnant woman.

"I'm sorry, baby," Calleigh apologized just a second later. "It's just— "

Eric rose from the couch, went over to Calleigh and kissed the top of her head.

"Hey. No, don't apologize, mi amor. It's all right. Do you want something to drink?"

"Apple juice, please."

Eric didn't mind his wife's mood swings. He really didn't. She had a human being growing inside her. That had to be taxing in every way possible.

"I love you. Don't you ever doubt that, Cal," Eric said, bringing her the drink.