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.

BSHLB - 13.1 Miles to Go

I thought that it may be time to give an update on BSHLB (Best Shape of Her Life Bridget).

Well, luckily, you haven't missed much. I've been slowly trying to cut down on my ice cream intake (freeze-pops are healthy, right?) and increase the amount of veggies that I've been consuming (this was not difficult as previous consumption was at approximately zero). I've also started to move more. As in, actually working out.

Working out is a bit of a chore for me. Because I am, by nature, a woman of leisure. I've always thought I was born in the wrong era. I would be much better suited for Victorian sensibilities.

Strolling? Absolutely. I love a good stroll. Croquet anyone? Sure thing. Lawn tennis? Right up my alley. And all this while wearing a bustle and breaking for tea and small sandwiches every 20 minutes. Pure heaven.

Unfortunately, this is not the place in time in which I've found myself. Instead of strapping on ye olde corset, I'm expected to exert myself physically to maintain my girlish figure. This is unfortunate. Not only for me, but for all those that must witness my very pathetic attempts at physical activity. I am, in all athletic endeavors, a total spaz.

So this is why I turn to running as my go-to mode of fitness. I can put one foot in front of the other. I can do this without any scary equipment or balls flying at me. And I can do this at my own pace... i.e. extremely, almost incomprehensibly slowly. In fact, at my speed, I guess you don't call it running. You call it jogging. I believe it is jogging or yogging. It might be a soft "J". I'm not sure.

In order to ensure I continue my adventures in jogging, I signed up for the BAA Half Marathon today. And I have a running plan to prepare my withered muscles for the 13.1 miles in October. With one week down, I'm feeling pretty good about things. And the best part? I've somehow convinced Mike to sign up with me. So if things go really badly on that fateful day in October, he can carry me over the finish line.

Advil and The Jagged Corners of Freeze Pop Wrappers

I'm reading back through our first week of blog posts (thanks to you for reading and commenting!) and I'm realizing a theme is developing. Bridget and I have a lot of fun, don't take ourselves too seriously, and enjoy disagreeing on various things. These things are all true. They are not, however, the full story.

We're also very much in love. ("Awww!" or "Vomit!" -- it's really up to you.)

But how did it happen? When did like turn into love? Have you thought about this question in your own life? When is the exact moment you fell in love with your husband, wife, boyfriend, girlfriend, or fiancé? For us, that's easy: Advil and the jagged corners of freeze pop wrappers.

First, the Advil or, in other words, why Mike fell in love with Bridget. For our first weekend getaway, Bridget and I went to gorgeous Boothbay Harbor, Maine. (Seriously, it's really nice.) We arrived in the seaside town, and prepared to eat lobster, drink a lot of wine, and take awkward pictures of ourselves (see example below).

As we made our way through the first bottle of vino before heading to dinner on that first night, I rummaged through my stuff to find my Advil. (I really hate hangovers.) To my dismay, I'd forgotten it at home. "Shoot. I forgot my Advil," I said. On cue, Bridget says, "Oh, I brought some. I knew you'd want it." Boom. In love. Right there.

Second, the jagged corners of freeze pop wrappers or, in other words, why Bridget fell in love with Mike. Bridget loves frozen treats. A lot. Like, so much. You might think you understand, but you really don't. She eats popsicles as if she's sitting on the sun and can identify ice cream flavors by touching them. So, of course, she loves freeze pops. (Who doesn't? Am I right?)

Early on in our dating lives at my old apartment in Salem, I offered Bridget a freeze pop. She obviously accepted. As I brought her a red one (her favorite flavor), I bit off the top of the wrapper. Then, before handing it to her, I bit off two pieces from either side so there was no chance she could cut her mouth on the plastic. She smiled from ear to ear. Boom. In love. Right there.

And two years later, we can both look back and immediately pinpoint those two moments that changed our lives forever. And for the record, I still bite the wrappers and she still brings the Advil. It really is the little things, isn't it?

So, what about you? Have you thought about it? What's the moment that turned like into love?