Last Thursday, Wes went to Costco to get food and drinks for the World Pneumonia Day party. When he came home, he told me what kind of wine he'd gotten. "I picked out your favorite kinds," he said. And then he looked at me, looked at the belly, and suddenly it dawned on him why I might not be that excited about the wine choices. Bless him, though, for thinking of me when picking out the wine.
Then Saturday, when we went to the Tennessee Civil War Sesquicentennial, Wes made me let him push Oliver in the stroller. Not because he wants me to rest or because he's worried about me overexerting myself (which I wouldn't do pushing a stroller), but because, as he put it, "It would look bad" for him to let me do it.
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