Cravings and a Cliche Walk

Do you remember what you were doing exactly at 8 PM on Saturday, February 9? I do. I was walking, no, trudging, through thigh-deep snow on the way to the grocery store around the corner.

Bridget, my newly pregnant wife, had a headache and she needed Tylenol. And only Tylenol.

To be honest, up to that point, through two months of pregnancy, I had expected more from her late-night needs and cravings. Like most newbies, I expected my wife to want pickles dipped in peanut butter dipped in mayonnaise dipped in chocolate every night. But for some odd reason, that wasn't appetizing to her. Up until Saturday, February 9, the list had been:

• P.F. Chang’s 
• Popsicles 
• Frozen orange juice
• Big, chunky pretzels. (“Hunny, do you know we have pretzels at home?” “Well, yes,” she replied. “But not big, chunky ones.” Argument over.) 
• Orange juice and seltzer water 
• Gummies -- from vitamins to fruit snacks 
• SO many popsicles  

(Now, I agree that Tylenol doesn't count as a craving, but it was a need. Advil, I found out that night, wasn't good for pregnant women.) 

You all probably remember the blizzard -- assuming you live on the East Coast. We got about 26 inches of snow in something like 14 hours. Boatloads of fresh powder, aggressive wind, power outages (not for us, thankfully), and abandoned roads. In other words, it was your typical winter nightmare. And as luck would have it, Bridget developed a splitting headache right in the middle of it.

So, I strapped on my boots, threw on several layers, made sure my exposed skin was at a minimum, and ventured out into the wild. Fortunately, the walk to the store wasn’t very long. But the whipping wind and driving snow made each step count twice.

Crouched down, barreling against the elements … must … go … on. I finally made it to our local Star Market -- and by that time it was 8:45. I assumed it would be closed when I left, but I knew I had to try. I had a glimmer of hope when I saw several lights on, but as I got closer, my hope faded. Sure enough, when I made my way to the front door, I was greeted by a sign: “We closed at 3 p.m. today because of the state of emergency. We will re-open tomorrow.” Damn. Only six hours late.

I trudged back, beaten and defeated. But I knew there had to be a Plan B. Thank God for neighbors. After 10 seconds of weighing my options, I decided to knock on the door of a downstairs neighbor with a young child, thinking they might have some Tylenol. I was greeted by two barking dogs and a crying child who had just been put to bed. Perfect. Such a jerk.

"So sorry, guys. Do you have any Tylenol?"

"We have Advil," they said, because, well, everyone uses Advil.

"It kind of needs to be Tylenol."

"Ummm, okay," they said. "Why don’t you come in?"

I crossed the threshold. “Yeah, Bridget’s pregnant, so we specifically need Tylenol. We don’t have any and she has a terrible headache.” Congratulations and smiles followed. And, fortunately, so did a bottle of extra strength Tylenol. I headed back upstairs (fully feeling like a knight in some sort of armor) and delivered the goods. The headache was gone within about a half hour and I had a happy, pregnant wife. (Thanks again, Marc and Brandee.)

I can't wait for those mayonnaise-covered pickles pop into her mind. Maybe I should just get some now in case.