golf lesson with London I awoke to an awful sound coming from the bathroom.
Bloouurrghp!
When I saw that Erin was not in bed with me I hopped up as quickly as I could and ran to the bathroom door. It was locked. “Are you okay, Schatzi?”
There was no verbal reply. Instead, another of the strange sounds that had yanked me from my peaceful slumber rang out from inside the bathroom.
Bloouurrghp! Bloouurrghp!
Whatever it was, it sounded like it hurt. I shook on the doorknob to try to jimmy it open, but it didn’t budge. “Erin, what’s wrong?” I said, feeling a sudden rush of panic. “Are you hurt? What’s going on?”
Blooooouuuurrrggghhppp!
It was almost more than I could take. I shook violently on the doorknob again. “Erin! Open up!” Based on the ferocity of the noise reverberating through the door, I could only guess that something was horribly wrong. Was she sick? Was she injured? Was she dying? Without the benefit of a response I could only guess, and my imagination was running rampant.
Just as I was preparing to kick the door in and rescue her from an awful fate, the sound abruptly ended. Then the toilet flushed, and out walked Erin just as happy as can be. “Good morning, August,” she said cheerfully, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.
I stared at her in disbelief. “Good morning? For crying out loud, I thought you were at death’s door. What in the Sam Hill was going on in there?”
“Oh, just a little morning sickness. I feel much better now, though.”
And thus began the second month of my wife’s pregnancy. It was an awful month. Erin lost her appetite, the smell of certain foods made her gag, sometimes the smell of me made her gag, and every time she had to vomit she would lock herself behind closed doors and begin barking like an injured seal until it was all over. But worse than all of that, the nausea was keeping her up at night, so she was getting very little sleep, which ultimately developed into a very foul temper. I usually took the brunt of her wild emotional flaps. Part way through the month, for example, she spent thirty full minutes lecturing me on the proper way to replace a roll of toilet paper.
“Were you raised in a barn?” she mocked. “Everyone knows that it’s supposed to roll over the front, not from behind!” And I won’t even mention the depth of her fury when I inadvertently left the toilet seat up before one of her vomiting spells. Misery loves company, and Erin seemed determined to make me join her in her suffering.
Erin was in a particularly wretched mood on the day of my second golf lesson with London. Truth be told, even though I wasn’t looking forward to golfing, it at least served as a good excuse to get out of the house. I showed up just a few minutes after ten o’clock in the morning. London was already there, waiting with a fresh stack of his scorecard journal entries.
I looked briefly at the tiny words that filled the topmost card. The name “Augusta” caught my eye, and I wished that I could just sit down and start reading through the deck instead of playing golf.
“So, what’re we learning today?” I muttered, still scanning the words on the scorecard.
London ran a hand through his thick hair as we started off toward the clubhouse to check in. “I’m afraid I haven’t decided yet. But I’ll think of something before we tee off.”
I shook my head in dismay. For a guy who had been so adamant about my playing golf again that he was willing to barter memories of my mother to get me to do it, he sure seemed uninterested now. “I’m glad this is so important to you that you’ve done some planning.”
London wasn’t fazed. “No worries. I’ll come up with something. But before we get too focused on golf, I was wondering how things are going with the pregnancy. Is Erin doing all right these days? Is there anything she needs?”
“An attitude adjustment would do her some good,” I quipped sarcastically. “But other than that,
Bloouurrghp!
When I saw that Erin was not in bed with me I hopped up as quickly as I could and ran to the bathroom door. It was locked. “Are you okay, Schatzi?”
There was no verbal reply. Instead, another of the strange sounds that had yanked me from my peaceful slumber rang out from inside the bathroom.
Bloouurrghp! Bloouurrghp!
Whatever it was, it sounded like it hurt. I shook on the doorknob to try to jimmy it open, but it didn’t budge. “Erin, what’s wrong?” I said, feeling a sudden rush of panic. “Are you hurt? What’s going on?”
Blooooouuuurrrggghhppp!
It was almost more than I could take. I shook violently on the doorknob again. “Erin! Open up!” Based on the ferocity of the noise reverberating through the door, I could only guess that something was horribly wrong. Was she sick? Was she injured? Was she dying? Without the benefit of a response I could only guess, and my imagination was running rampant.
Just as I was preparing to kick the door in and rescue her from an awful fate, the sound abruptly ended. Then the toilet flushed, and out walked Erin just as happy as can be. “Good morning, August,” she said cheerfully, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.
I stared at her in disbelief. “Good morning? For crying out loud, I thought you were at death’s door. What in the Sam Hill was going on in there?”
“Oh, just a little morning sickness. I feel much better now, though.”
And thus began the second month of my wife’s pregnancy. It was an awful month. Erin lost her appetite, the smell of certain foods made her gag, sometimes the smell of me made her gag, and every time she had to vomit she would lock herself behind closed doors and begin barking like an injured seal until it was all over. But worse than all of that, the nausea was keeping her up at night, so she was getting very little sleep, which ultimately developed into a very foul temper. I usually took the brunt of her wild emotional flaps. Part way through the month, for example, she spent thirty full minutes lecturing me on the proper way to replace a roll of toilet paper.
“Were you raised in a barn?” she mocked. “Everyone knows that it’s supposed to roll over the front, not from behind!” And I won’t even mention the depth of her fury when I inadvertently left the toilet seat up before one of her vomiting spells. Misery loves company, and Erin seemed determined to make me join her in her suffering.
Erin was in a particularly wretched mood on the day of my second golf lesson with London. Truth be told, even though I wasn’t looking forward to golfing, it at least served as a good excuse to get out of the house. I showed up just a few minutes after ten o’clock in the morning. London was already there, waiting with a fresh stack of his scorecard journal entries.
I looked briefly at the tiny words that filled the topmost card. The name “Augusta” caught my eye, and I wished that I could just sit down and start reading through the deck instead of playing golf.
“So, what’re we learning today?” I muttered, still scanning the words on the scorecard.
London ran a hand through his thick hair as we started off toward the clubhouse to check in. “I’m afraid I haven’t decided yet. But I’ll think of something before we tee off.”
I shook my head in dismay. For a guy who had been so adamant about my playing golf again that he was willing to barter memories of my mother to get me to do it, he sure seemed uninterested now. “I’m glad this is so important to you that you’ve done some planning.”
London wasn’t fazed. “No worries. I’ll come up with something. But before we get too focused on golf, I was wondering how things are going with the pregnancy. Is Erin doing all right these days? Is there anything she needs?”
“An attitude adjustment would do her some good,” I quipped sarcastically. “But other than that,
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