Unfortunate nickname

Last night Josh and I are settling into bed and I remarked about how I can feel the baby when I poke my stomach. Josh goes on this rant about how if our son comes out bruised or misshaped that it is my fault for always trying to touch him. We laugh and I start to fall asleep and the next thing I know Josh is poking my guts trying to feel. So jokingly I smacked his hand and said, "Don't poke the baby!" To which, without a moments hesitation I might add, Josh says, "It won't hurt him. He has on a meat helmet." Yes, my husband referred to me as a meat helmet. That folks is true romance.