I Am A Jelly Donut

Not a high quality designer donut. I'm half-baked with too much glaze and most of my jelly is oozing out the side. And it really, really hurts. To make matters worse this donut is now 34 years old as of this Sunday.

My wife is such a trooper. On Saturday she let me take her to an event in San Francisco but it went horribly wrong. During the drive back to our apartment she broke up crying completely out of the blue. She used to be part of the same creative crowd that had put on the event and to contrast that with the life she leads now is crushing for her -- almost five months pregnant, living out in the burbs, and with a clumsy awkward guy who inevitably seems to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. The drive back to our apartment was long. She couldn't talk about what was going on inside of her and I rambled on during the entire trip trying to fill an empty void. I did everything I could to try and convince her that she could make her life take any shape she wanted it to ... to convince her that she may feel stuck in a hole but that there were so many ways out. Hmmmm. Or atleast there were a few ways that she could rearrange her hole so that it wasn't so deep. I tried to let her know that I would support her in any decision or plan that she came up with. Even if that plan didn't involve me. It's still painful to think about that.

My actual birthday was on Sunday and despite everything my wife was very kind. I know she had been feeling exhausted and depressed all week but she still found the energy to get me a small gift, take me out to breakfast, and surprise me with a cake. I feel like something of a cad to be so absorbed in my own emotional problems. I know that there's a lot about her that I don't get. All I can do is pretend I'm OK and desperately grasp at the few things that I do pick up. She keeps her cards to herself and it seems like her emotions are for her and only her. Please someone, lend me a clue.