Superman couldn't fly either, if he was pregnant.

Just over 15 years ago I was very pregnant with daughter #3, and due to the fact that I'm virtually hip-less, my babies never had any choice but to stick way out front. This caused an array of problems for me, some obvious one's (like wearing two completely different shoes without knowing it) and some not so obvious, like finding it more difficult to save peoples lives.
I say this because if you have ever had the opportunity to save someones life, you will understand the complexities of performing such a task. First of all, when the opportunity to "save" someone arises, most of the time you are totally unprepared for it. Secondly, once you have had the chance to gather you're faculties and have become fully aware of the situation, you find yourself already right in the middle of it and realize that you have been working on auto-pilot without really thinking. This is what happened when I had to save Doug's life one night.
As you recall, I was super pregnant, like due in five minutes or something like that. It was late and we were getting ready to go to bed when Doug asked; "What was that joke your dad was telling you yesterday?"
"Just the one about the guy with a wooden eye who goes to a dance and see's a girl with a club foot, so he asks her if she wants to dance and she says 'would I! would I!' and he gets offended and calls her 'hare-lip, hare-lip'. " I tell him.
"What does a hare-lip have to do with it if she has a club foot?" Doug asks. "I don't know, maybe she was born with a cleft pallet." I say. "Huh. Why didn't he call her club foot?" Doug asks. "I don't know. It's dumb. Goodnight..." and with that we fell asleep.
Now, if you have read my other posts you are aware that nothing ever happens at our house unless it's the middle of the night, so much later on in the middle of the night, after I was completely asleep and not aware that Doug had gotten up for some reason, I was awakened by a thunderous crash. Anyone who knows Doug also knows he is 6 ft. 6 and not a little sissy boy. When he fell, the house almost came down. It was so loud the shock of it jolted me awake instantly. In less than a second my brain tallied up the facts: Doug was on the floor possibly having a heart attack, it was pitch black outside and my bladder was so full I had to consider running to the bathroom first. Luckily my auto-pilot kicked in and I shot like a dart from my side of the bed with super-human speed. I didn't actually get out of the bed because it seemed much more reasonable to just scamper on all fours from one side of the bed to the other. Walking is one of those things that pregnant women just become accustomed to not doing. I had gradually, over the course of nine months, found myself doing everything to avoid actually standing up, and this time was no different. I scrambled up and across the bed so fast I found myself actually gliding on my pregnant belly (which was now playing the role of a bowling ball) and as if I had no control over my limbs whatsoever, my arms flew straight out in front of me making me all the more aerodynamic, like superman, if you can believe that. It's just incredible how easy flying can be when you really put your back into it. I couldn't stop no matter what I did, and there was hardly time to come up with a good plan for a crash landing while still keeping the little passenger intact. All I really know is that I was sleeping, and then I was scampering, and then I was sliding, and then I was flying and it wasn't until I was in mid-air that I realized I was going to land (hard) on something, and that something was Doug- who's life I was supposed to be saving. All of the sudden time slowed way down and I was floating in mid-air for a moment, long enough to figure out that if I turned halfway really quick and pulled my knees up, I could at the very least save the life of my unborn child. So that's what I did. Twisting and tucking in mid-air, I landed on Doug who had simply gotten out of bed to go to the bathroom, stood up too quickly and gotten dizzy. Not but three minutes had passed from the time we were both in bed. Now we lay together in a heap on the floor, Doug's face squashed against my belly, me stretched across him sideways holding the knee I had used to break my fall. We lay there in the stillness, Doug's breathing labored simply because I was suffocating him with my baby fat. Finally, a muffled voice came from out of the darkness:
"What the H--- are you doing?!" Doug asked as pointedly as he could through squished lips, "I'm saving your life! What the H--- are you doing?" I responded. With those questions out of the way we continued to lay there, stunned into dumb silence. At last I found the strength to get up off my husband, who by now looked almost dead. "Are you gonna get up?" I asked once I was on my feet, staring down at his lifeless form. "Should I? Maybe I should just sleep on the floor." He said without moving.
"Fine. I'll throw you a pillow." My knee was beginning to swell up and turn purple. I limped over to the edge of the bed and sat down. "Do you think the neighbors heard you fall? " I asked him, examining my knee, "It sounded like a bomb hit."
"I tried to lean against the wall, but it was further away than I realized." He explained, still stretched out on the floor.
"Aren't you glad I was here to resuscitate you?" I joked.
"You should have just let me die."
"Why would I do that?"
"You could've collected the insurance and saved your knee."
"Oh, I would never just let you die, would I? " I waited for a response. "Would I?" I asked again. Doug's voice trailed up from the floor, "Club foot, club foot."