Our good friends Jen and David just purchased their first house a few days ago, and in the ensuing craziness that usually follows all of that paperwork, they asked to borrow our computer for a few moments Saturday afternoon to print out and sign one more addendum for their real estate agent.
When they came over, I led them up to our home office/soon-to-be nursery/catch-all room to explain the few quirks with our sometimes finicky printer.
And, being that it is in the process of becoming a little girl's room, there are signs of that change all around -- mostly in the form of tiny pink things and a growing collection of children's books.
Jen, of course, owning a set of ovaries, stopped abruptly at the door and started fingering all of the little onesies we've collected, exclaiming how cute they are.
David, of course, owning a set of testicles, tried to feign interest.
"So when are you due again?" he asked.
His eyes grew wide. "Oh man, that's a SATURDAY."
"Wow. You're good," I said. "And I thought I was counting down a little prematurely. You were able to pick the day of the week out of your back pocket. I'm impressed."
"Well, it's a Penn State game day," he said.
And suddenly it all made sense. Around here, when I tell women I'm due in November, they immediately eye my belly and make a snap judgement as to whether or not it is an acceptable size for how far along I am. When I tell men I'm due in November, they automatically think of football season and how my going into labor might possibly affect a GAME DAY.
"How's Jerry feel about that?" David asked, smiling.
To his credit, David worships his alma matter. And, like many other PSU grads around the country, a big part of that worship centers around the football stadium in the form of season tickets and tailgating. There is a saying around here that Penn State fans bleed blue and white. And if there's anyone who if cut open started leaking a stream of those colors (and maybe even burst fourth in the fight song as if it was bottled up in his heart), it would be David.
"Well, I'm pretty sure I don't care how he feels about it," I said with a smirk.
"And if you're a little late, you might go the next day during a Steeler's game."
Nevermind what I might be doing. That I might be mid-crap when I start feeling labor pains. Or maybe driving on the highway when the first pangs strike and the shock is so great that I have to really concentrate not to wreck my car into a concrete bridge abutment, taking out my one mode of transportation to get to the hospital for help delivering an 8-pound being OUT OF MY VAGINA.
Yeah, THAT would be no big deal. But if my water breaks right as Troy Polamalu catches an interception? UNACCEPTABLE. I might as well scoop it up and put it back in. The birth of our first child can wait until the buzzer rings at the end of the fourth quarter.
I mean, my uterus should at least try to be considerate.
And I might as well promise now to do my best to bleed blue and white when the doctors opt to give me an episiotomy.