The husband in this episode is going through his sock drawer, looking to pack some socks for his bicycle ride to work the next morning,

“Cheryl, where did all of these dress socks come from?”

“They were preserved in their original packaging, nestled safely in the back of your closet.”

“Hmm, those are pretty cool.”

Cheryl, filled nearly to bursting with baby, was flushed with vindication.

Cheryl and I have been looking forward to having another child for several years now. If all goes well, that wait will end sometime in the next eight weeks. Sometime, two months from now, we’ll be getting out of bed prematurely thinking: “what the hell were we thinking?” We’ll be sitting on the couch relaxing with a baby in our arms, enjoying a moment of peace unlike any other. We’ll be reintroduced to smells that have no business being in your home. We’ll be peeking through a crack in the door to check up on our sleeping child, our hearts skipping a beat not from fear, but bliss. We’ll be good and ready for the crying to finally stop. We’ll be in a rush for the camera when Beth finally agrees to hold her sibling for the first time. We’ll be pulling out our hair trying to get everyone ready in the morning before work. We’ll be happily doing our own thing throughout the house in those odd moments when life slows down.

I’m glad for the good and I’m a little scared of the bad, but I’m ready to take them both.

Despite my damn near traitorous political disagreements with our president (I’m sure it keeps him up a night), in many ways I am the consummate American. Like many of my freedom loving brothers and sisters living in the American dreamscape, I suffer from a short attention span. One week, I exercise with the zeal of Lance himself. The next? I’m no better than millions of meat and potato fat slobs living in this land that stretches from sea to shining sea. A month ago I really cared about how our back yard looked. Now? It’s not like all of that work got us a guest shot in Better Homes and Gardens, not to mention IT’S THE BACK YARD. Who’s going to see it but me anyway? Well let’s see. Survey says?!?

Cheryl.

Oh crap. The nesting mother strikes back. I’d better get back out there and do some watering.