My husband became overly attentive in my third trimester. “Put your feet up,” he’d say.

Taking the groceries out of my hands, he’d counsel, “don’t carry anything heavy.” No complaints here except he only cared on weekends.

From Monday to Friday, I could lift a truck while he watched television and he’d not even glance my way. I didn’t understand his actions until I went into labor while cooking dinner on Monday night.

Instead of becoming flustered like any first-time father, my honey whooped, “Good baby. No weekend arrival. Everyone attends a weekend naming ceremony!”