Change your perspective.

Last night I found myself scrubbing the tub at 11:30 pm, (that's the middle of my night), tired and miserable and crying. I couldn't sleep so I'd decided scrubbing the tub was a good way to use my extra time. My head hurt, my joints ached, I felt a million years old.
I found myself getting really mad at my husband for being asleep. I asked my sponge, Mr. Bingledorf, "How come HE doesn't ever have to be pregnant???" Whereupon my tired brain spoke for Mr. Bingledorf: "How come YOU don't have to worry about getting good grades in college while supporting a wife and soon-to-be child and never getting enough sleep because unlike SOME people nap-time is not an option???" Touche Mr. Bingledorf. Touche.
I finally gave up on the tub and crawled back into bed hoping to fall asleep. But I couldn't. So I cried instead. Then FINALLY I got comfy and was ALMOST to dreamland, when my fetus started screaming FEED ME!!!!!! Somewhere in the process of getting the bread out to make myself a sandwich or something it was all just too overwhelming and Loren came out to find me sitting on the floor, leaning against the table, sobbing. He lifted me up onto a chair, made me a cheese sandwich, told me I'm beautiful and made me laugh, and then when we went back to bed he held me and hummed until I fell asleep. When he woke up at 2:45 to get ready for work he told me to stay in bed, made his own breakfast, and washed every single dish he used before he left.
The point of this story is, I COULD have woke him up just to tell him how mad I was at him. I was sorely tempted to. I chose to recognize that I was being an idiot though and didn't. Which is good, because when a man will sacrifice his hard-earned sleep to make you a cheese sandwich and a joke in the middle of the night, he really doesn't deserve to be yelled at. And if you yell at him he might not want to do things like make you a cheese sandwich in the middle of the night anymore.