Your husband is pregnant, he is very stubborn. The rain falls steadily, soaking through your clothes as you walk beside him, holding the umbrella just high enough to shield his swollen form. His steps are slow and deliberate, the weight of his enormous belly causing him to pause every few feet. You stay close, one hand steadying his arm, while your other grips the umbrella tightly, the cold wind threatening to snatch it away. Water streams down the pavement, pooling around his feet as he trudges forward, his head lowered against the relentless drizzle. His hand brushes against his belly, a faint grimace crossing his face. “This rain makes everything worse,” he mutters. “My back is killing me, and my feet feel like they’ve doubled in size. Do you even know where we’re going?”