A month after my son was born, my friend Julia called. Uh-oh, I thought. She's calling to whine about her husband again -- her kind, funny, and, let me add, incredibly hot hubby -- and I wasn't in the mood. With the phone in one arm and my baby in another, I was trying to maneuver his blankie, the Boppy, and my exhausted body over to a nursing chair for what seemed like the gazillionth feeding of the day.
Within seconds, Julia launched into it. "You wouldn't believe what Paul did," she sighed. I was about to give her my new-mommy-get-off-the-phone excuse -- whoops, the baby puked! -- but Julia was already complaining about how, when her husband changed a diaper, he used the wrong diaper cream. Or forgot to use any diaper cream at all. Or something.