The Salt Chronicles

We learned it in Middle School. The Periodic Table of Elements. A wide ranging, oddly assorted grouping of elements, some of which combine to form amazingly profound necessities: Two parts Hydrogen (H) and one part Oxygen = H2O, or water. Pretty important element for us. Makes up a gigantic part of our Earth. How about this one? One part Carbon, two parts Oxygen, or CO2 = Carbon Dioxide. Another biggie. Of course, this one can kill us, but thankfully trees and plants love us and convert it to O...or Oxygen, so we can live.

Here's another one: one part Sodium (Na) and one part Chloride (Cl). Yup, sodium chloride, or as we know it, table salt. Yeah, not so much when compared to H2O or CO2, right?

Yeah, not so much...unless you've been living in my house lately. If so, you would know that at this point, salt is probably more important than ME. The life and times of living with a pregnant woman who wants SALT. Not just sometimes--ALL the time. It is a never ending craving.

We went to Costco last Sunday to stock up on essentials. We like their bacon. It's center cut, and comes in a 4-pack for about $8. Pretty sweet deal for center cut, right? Just got it on Sunday and we're already through two packages--in fact, she's cooking a third as I type. Not bad, until you consider that each "package" has been consumed in a SINGLE day. By my wife. She left me two pieces in the second package. Thanks, Love.

It doesn't stop there. Nope. Pickles. Dill pickles. She picked up two jars of Hamburger Dills last Friday night for Halloween dinner. I made sliders for the kids and grown up kids. Dills and sauteed onions accompanied the mini-burgers. Maybe half the jar got used that night, of which half of the half ended up in my wife's stomach. She had polished off the other half by Saturday afternoon. The second jar? Gone by Sunday night. She doesn't even put them in a bowl, or pick them out with her fingers. She sits on the couch, right next to me, fork in one hand, jar of pickles in the other. CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH.

Peanut, I hope you get her blood pressure. And if you're thirsty when you come out, I don't blame you.

I keep waiting for Vlasic to call and offer us some kind of baby deal. You know, "Name your baby 'Dill' or 'Vlasic' or something ridiculous and we'll give you free pickles for life." At this point, I wonder if Jill would consider it. Given our recent, and upcoming pickle tab, I'd have to give the offer serious merit.

So, to date: 1.5 jars Hamburger Dills, 1 jar Dill Spears and 1 big ASS jar of dill spears (from Costco, of course). Oh yeah, and two packages of bacon (a third pending). Maybe I'll get more than a few pieces of today's package...

Peanut arrives

So yesterday was a good day--nay, a GREAT day.

Just as any other day, I was communicating sporadically with my wife, Jill, via Crackberry Messenger--it's a blessing AND a curse, but a whole other Oprah and not for this blog. Anyhoo, I was invited to play cards with some of the boys this Saturday. Having racked up a slew of "points" with the wife over the last two weeks, I figured getting the pass would be a no brainer. Silly me.

After seeing if it was "cool if I played cards" on Saturday night, again, via the Crackberry Msgr, the response from wife came back, "Not really, can we talk about that?"

Crickets..........

A little fired up, I called her on my way to a 12:00 appointment and all I heard was, "blahblahblah, this that and the other thing." Not wanting to start World War III over the phone, I was content venting to Colin Cowherd. I would work my way into the card game come hell or high water. But not today...thankfully.

As the day went on, nothing terribly eventful occured--exchanged a few messages with Jill, did some work at the office, and prepared for my 6:00 meeting. Jill, though, was awfully concerned about the precise time I would be home--not unusual, but this time moreso than other nights. The messages kept coming: "you will make my day if you get home by 8:00," "Have you left the office yet?" "Can I dress the salad yet? How close are you?" Others I didn't get, but were definitely thought of by her were: "Get the f*ck home," "Hurry the f*ck up," and "Where the f*ck are you?!"

Dinner was good and Mom is in town so we had a pleasant meal, even though I was "late," according to Jill. Whatever. I'm never late. I soon understood why...

After dinner, and I mean, DIRECTLY after dinner, Jill popped up out of her chair and announced that we--she and I--were walking the dogs. Mom said she'd just walked them at 6:30, so I relaxed, tummy full after a delicious meal. But no, we were walking.

READ: Jill wants to talk.

Was something up? If I had a Magic 8 Ball and shook it, it would have read, "All signs point to yes." Of course something was up. So we bundled up and began our walk. Not more than 10 seconds into the walk...

"So what's up?" I asked.

"Nothing."

Shocker. Why would there be something up? The night has been perfectly normal. She's not acting weird or anything. Our walk continued, and since she wasn't talking, I covered for her and diarrhea of the mouth ensued.

As we approached the playground in our neighborhood, me still yakkin' away like a grandmother at a bridge game, Jill grabbed my arm and pulled me into the playground--with the dogs. "Isn't it a little cold out for this kind of thing?" I thought.

She said the dogs don't ever get to go in there--and they shouldn't, they're not allowed. Plus JP pees on everything, and, really, that's just not cool. Heck, one time he even peed on one of our new neighbors. It wasn't on purpose or anything--Curt was just standing in the wrong place. At least that's how we tell the it.

Back to the story. At this point, something is def up and I'm getting that feeling--the not so good feeling in my stomach like she's about to tell me something terrible. She has cancer, something happened to Jack, heck, I don't know. Anything. I just ate and combining that with the not so good feeling can be combustible.

She pats the bench, tells me to sit down and hands me a card. No name on the outside. What is it? What could it be?

I slipped my finger into the envelope and opened it. My fingers fumbled with the card--dadgum it was cold! I barely read the outside of the card. The words on the inside of the card made zippy sense. This is what it said:

Daddy,

Mommy afjdlaoirnqn f aewiocqenw vnklanv fewnflqn vlas alskdfjla neqn kjnkvfiu fadslnfewqf dhasldjflj ladsjlfadsjldsjdslsh jafdsljl gbqugerbgiutrbbvn bvek bq,.mzxnv,ncvafhwiueq ghnfdskjabveri qgfqewi v nads vabkabge

Love,
Your lil peanut

The best news of the day, the best news of the week. The best news ever.

She was pregnant.

So, here we are, 5 weeks along. It's my first child, our first child together and we are excited for the journey*. I hope it is a happy, healthy next 8 months. And you get to read all about here. Buckle up and ride along with a soon-to-be first time dad.

*Disclaimer: I'm also scared as shit, nervous, happy, giddy, anxious, frightened, smiling from ear to ear. But most of all, I am blessed.