The Good Husband of a Pregnant Wife

Last night was Punch Drunk Wonderland's (a fantasy football league enjoyed by several of my friends and friends of friends) had our draft. 30 minutes before the draft started, I realized I didn't have any milk, and thus couldn't make hamburger helper -- I promised my wife a cheap/quick/easy meal before she got home from her after work, work meeting. Not wanting to disappoint, I ran off the grocery, knowing that if I was held up, I might miss the start of our draft. Thankfully, I made it back with a few minutes to spare and started dinner. I did pretty well, I think. I picked up TO and Randy Moss with my first two picks, not bad I think.

Somewhere between rounds 4 and 5, the timer on the oven went off and the door bell rang. I ran to the door thinking K forgot her keys, but when I opened it her co-worker was standing there saying, "your wife is throwing up in the street!". I ran out to console her, but by the time I got there she was already laughing at the situation. Our neighbor, Mike, somewhat shocked at what he just witnessed, offered a bottle of water. Kristen announced to the small crowed gathered around the vomit that she's pregnant, since of course that's the only socially acceptable excuse for vomiting.

Mike and his girlfriend, Jennifer drove off and left Melanie, K's coworker, and the two of us still standing around the pile of almost digested virgin daquiri and various appetizers talking about the usual: pregnancy dos and don'ts, where to deliver, morning sickness and all of the other things I didn't think I'd ever be talking about. Melanie and K took a shower...

So like a good husband, I cleaned up the street while picking the greatest fantasy team ever assembled and finishing up dinner. I'm a catch, aren't I?