I do love him. I think he loves me...

This morning, Mark and I went for a run together.

This was of course, a "my wife is 7.5 months pregnant, so I'm going to 'jog' with her until she has a contraction she has to walk through" type of run.

The fetus doesn't like the jiggling.

Anyway, during getting ready post-run, Mark commented on how now that he's back in a running routine, he's dropped a few pounds.

I made a snarky remark like "Yes, I noticed.  They were all transplanted to my ass". 


His response?
Definitely not: 'Oh, you look gorgeous', or 'whatever, you're crazy'.

It was

"Don't worry honey, it's birthing strength.  This birth is going to go really well by the looks of it."

Honesty is the best policy... sometimes?