Oh man am I in trouble. I’ve been warned in the past that living with a pregnant woman (aside: as if anything else in my house would be pregnant . . . except for pauses, of course) was a dangerous endeavor but, they never really told me the extent of that danger. And boy, let me tell you . . . I’m scared.

There are two stories.

1. We tried to watch a movie last night. Our consumption of media has been steadily dropping, and I envision that trend continuing. We’ve been tired without the squirt. I can only imagine how tired we’ll be with an 8-pound baby exclaiming that it needs to be fed, changed or loved RIGHT NOW! He’ll understand that there’s something going on with his bowels but . . . he won’t know how to control it. “Hang on, I don’t know what’s gonna happen but it ain’t gonna be pretty!” That’s what baby cries mean, by the way.

So, we’re watching the movie. It’s an intense movie, dealing with dark issues that my wife probably shouldn’t have been thinking about during gestation, lest we raise the next Marquis De Sade . . . or Marv Albert. It’s a confusing film with many layers and a slow, deliberate pace. I’m watching intently, trying to uncover the mysteries that are far below the surface of the presentation. Don’t bug me now; I’m channeling Roger Ebert.

Meanwhile, my wife is doing back flips on the couch. One position, another. On the floor, in a chair. Standing. Sitting. Rolling. Attempting to levitate. All the while, she’s huffing and puffing, cursing the couch.

”What’s wrong,” I stupidly ask.

“I CAN’T GET COMFORTABLE. I HATE THIS STUPID COUCH AND I CAN’T STAND IT ANYMORE. REMOVE IT FROM MY SITE.” (She no longer has the ability to speak. It’s all force at this point. I mean, I would be too if my intestines had been moved up to my lungs to make room for a wiggly little baby.)

“Do you want me to move? Maybe you’ll be more comfortable if you sit on the whole couch.”

“NO. THAT WON’T HELP. DON’T YOU WANT TO SIT NEXT TO ME? WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME?”

“I didn’t say that. I . . . “

”FIRST I CAN’T GET COMFORTABLE. NOW YOU HATE ME. JUST START THE MOVIE.”

I do this. 18 nanoseconds pass.

“I HAVE TO PEE.”

The fact that I have written this down, and am trying to make it funny means I will be eviscerated when I get home. Please understand this and pray for me.

2. We have a horrible habit of not developing film. A few weeks ago we picked up pictures from Halloween . . . 1999. I was Darth Maul. Looked kick ass too. Wifey did the make up.

Because of this inherent flaw in our systems, we’ve decided that we better get a digital camera before Baby Elvis comes along. That way we don’t have to develop the film. We can just load the pictures onto on the computer and ignore them there.

Normally I am the keeper of all electronic material. I may research and purchase on my own. This is my job. I do it well.

Not this time. Wifey joined me in the quest for the ultimate camera. I have endured the eighth level of hell.

Don’t get me wrong. My wife has wonderful taste. She understands electronics and knew exactly what she wanted in a digital camera. She just took all the fun out of it.

Sample conversation at an electronics store:

ME: This one has 3.1 megapixel resolution, plus night vision and it has a bunch of cool color modes.

Wife: For that price, we should be able to get a camera with a better ICES-003 rating.

ME: What?

Wife: It’s too expensive. It doesn’t have all the features we need.

ME: It has night vision!

Wife: Doesn’t matter.

ME: It can photograph people's souls.

Wife: Why would you want that?

ME: It will help with interviewing babysitters.

Wife: It’s not needed. (She waves it off as if it is of the lowest caste in India.)

Sales Guy: It also photographs magnetic fields not visible to the human eye.

Me: SOLD!!!!

Wife: NO!

And on and on. She thought we were actually buying the camera for the purpose of taking pictures. I never intend to take pictures with the damn thing. I just want to show it to my friends and say, “Yeah, well, my camera can take pictures of events that not only have already happened, but that I've long since forgotten and only now I want to remember! It's the regression mode.” That’s the fun in electronics! Functionality and practicality don’t matter. No. It’s the impression factor.

“Holy crap! That’s a cool camera!” That’s all I want to hear. Just as long as they don’t ask how it works. I only understand the camera in concept. I’m an electronics esoteric.

It doesn’t matter. We picked a reasonably priced, high-resolution camera. It’s quite nice and has some interesting, if not pedestrian, features. I’m sure it works wonderfully.

But I’ll have to peer into your soul the old fashioned way. With voodoo.