I just don’t get him

My husband called me into the office tonight to show me a picture on his phone – a newborn baby boy.

“Oh, he’s so cute, whose is he?”

“Amir’s.”

“Wait, your Amir?”

“Yeah.”

“Your best friend Amir?!”

“Well, yeah.”

“!!”

Here’s what I don’t get.  Amir is, see above, my husband’s best friend.  Granted, they don’t see each other that often, because Amir lives nine time zones and nearly 7000 miles from us, but they are close, talk all the time, and when they see each other it is like they just hung out the day before.

And I didn’t even know he and his wife were pregnant.  I mean, this husband of mine, who knows I quilt and knit and am dying to have excuses to make adorable little baby things – and that I think Amir and Libby are terrific and definitely craft worthy – and he never mentioned this huge imminent event that I could have been sewing or knitting for all this time.

“Didn’t I mention it?” he said to me.

I know it is an unfair stereotype, but still I want to shake my fist at him and shout that he’s such a guy.

But I don’t have time because I have a baby quilt to make.

I think one of these will be involved.