I leave my pregnancy books (yes, that is plural. Ok, it’s only two. Well, plus a pregnancy journal.) out and about. They are usually flipped open to whatever page I was browsing. I never thought much of it. Until one day out of the blue, Sheldon starts quoting it. “Exactly how much water are you drinking?” “Did you know you are supposed to be eating rice and pasta and dairy and just where exactly are you getting the iron you are supposed to be getting if you refuse to eat meat half the time?” And then he goes through my regular vitamins and pre-natal vitamins and says, “Ok, you’re off the hook. Your pre-natal gives you 35 mg of iron and you only need 30.” I love this man. He really is quite super awesome with this whole pregnancy thing. He does kinda treat me like glass. But, since I am higher-risk and have been spotting for awhile, I can’t blame him. He doesn’t let me lift anything. He has no problem with me sleeping in and napping. He also knows I sometimes have trouble sleeping and