I didn't mind setting my beer aside to carry my babies. I'd never been a big drinker anyway. But by the third trimester, I really could've used a damn drink. So any time my partner had a drink in front of me, I shot laser beams from my eyes hoping his bottle would explode. They didn't, and he kept drinking. Rude.

Oh, I'm sorry: you have a nagging pain in your lower back? And you need me to rub it? Excuse me while I waddle over, further separating my hips (because the baby measured bigger than expected), ignoring my own pains that are everywhere, so I can massage that tiny spot you could obviously reach yourself if you wanted to.

If your partner complains about their sleep when you're forced to lay on your left side all goddamn night, all the while dealing with heartburn, a bathroom trip every two minutes, and a inhumane amount sweat, they are wrong. So, so wrong.

During my third trimester with my firstborn, I settled into nesting and found comfort in keeping the house in order. I mean, I didn't have anything else to do except wait to meet my baby.

With my second, however, I couldn't have cared less about the house. I could barely breathe or walk, let alone fold the laundry. If your partner makes any mention of the house when you're busy growing fetus arms and fetus legs, you have my permission to throw said laundry at them. Feels good, right?

When a pregnant woman asks for ice cream, an extra pillow, another pair of shoes, a parakeet — whatever — you give it to her and you don't say another word about it. When I wanted a hamburger late at night, there would be no conversation discussing the nuanced or complex reasons why I craved a meat slab at an otherwise unconventional hour. The answer is yes. Always yes.

Whenever anyone asks how they look, there's an unspoken multi-second rule. If you don't answer quickly, they'll assume they don't look good. When you're pregnant, and especially when you're in your third trimester, it's best to have an answer (a good one) ready to whip out ASAP. Why? Oh, you know, because you have approximately .235 seconds to answer, and answer correctly.

When I was pregnant, my partner hesitated once or twice. Did it matter that he still thought I was beautiful? Absolutely not. If he waited to answer I assumed I looked hideous. Then I responded accordingly.

You know those final OB-GYN appointments that confirm how giant of a baby you'll deliver or how much amniotic fluid you've lost and, thus, why you're now on bed rest until an induction is scheduled? Your partner should be there. Right next to you. Not golfing.

Yes, being pregnant means dealing with unruly hormones. But to blame every emotion or feeling on them is unfair and, frankly, condescending. You're allowed to feel whatever the hell you feel, and those feelings should be validated by the person you rely on to support you.

My hormones were little monsters that controlled a lot of what I said and did, but there were times when my feelings were a byproduct of my environment. I needed to be heard.

My partner is one of those "wakes up happy in the morning, sings and hums and whistles all day" types, and let me tell ya — during my third trimester it was like I was being punished for something I did in another life. The jokes, the laughing over nothing, the general annoying happiness is not something most pregnant women want to be around when there's an actual person kicking their way through their bodies. Save it.

There's no "we're" about it, people. I had the babies. Me. I did it. I carried them and I delivered them. Any time my partner used "we" I mentally disowned him (albeit temporarily, but whatever). The third trimester is hard enough. At least let us have all the credit for the work us pregnant women have put in.

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