Yesterday, the husband worked at digging up the small trees rooted in our flowerbeds. I sat on the porch and watched and kept him supplied with ice water.
At one point, he stopped digging, leaned on his shovel, and said, “You know, for the first time in our lives, we’re living out the divine prediction for male-female roles after the Fall.”
I cocked my head. “You mean, I’m pregnant and uncomfortable, and you’re out here toiling in the soil?”
I grinned and nodded at the hole he’d dug. “How’s the toiling part workin’ out for ya?”
He grinned back. “I hate it.”