More Football Stuff

What is it about men having to have their hand (or at least their thumb) tucked into the front of their pants when watching a sporting event? Does it remind them of a cup and are they, therefore, reliving their own past athletic glories? Do they just love Mr Winkie so much that they like to be close to it whenever possible? This is on the list of questions I would like answered when I die. And, yes, I do keep a list of things I don't comprehend and would like explained. I figure eternity is a long time and I would like some answers. Why play a harp on a cloud when you can learn stuff?

But back to the point... When sweet bebe was less than 24 hours old, a Cowboy game was on. No, Hubs and I were not going to miss my labor to watch it (especially me since I was much more vested in the process than anyone else), but since the hard part was over -- well, we had to watch the game. So, we ordered pizza from room service and got situated. Since it was December and the Cowboys, this was an important and "crunch time" game. And how can a team with that much talent and money not have a playoff win since 1996? Seriously, people, my brother's youth soccer team (they were called, wait for it ... the Whopper Juniors -- I SHIT YOU NOT) did not go decades without a playoff appearance and they sucked so bad that the parents had to buy them trophies.

But I digress... shocking, no?

Ken has the baby in a pseudo-easy chair. Life is sweet. At half time, I look over and see that Hubby has fallen asleep (apparently labor was no pic-a-nic for him either). He, of course, has one armed wrapped around the baby and the other hand tucked into his pants. The HILARIOUS part of this was that my less-than-a-day-old-newborn-son has HIS LITTLE HAND TUCKED INTO HIS DIAPER. The two of them, fast asleep, "watching" the game, with their hands tucked into their nether-regions. It was my first mom moment and made me tear up. Seriously, life could not get any cuter.

And to combine the last couple of posts as to why I am a guy and how much I love football... this story is a perfect synopsis of that. A couple of years back, my birthday fell on Monday Night Football. This is the gist of my conversation with Hubby about it:

Hubs: "Your birthday is coming up. What do you want to do?" {For the record, men, suggest something rather than blindly asking what we would like to do. Make it seem like you put some effort into the process. And look at a calendar so you know what day her birthday is. This general, "well, the leaves are changing colors and I think she was born in the Fall" wild-ass guess gets really old, really fast}.

Me: "My birthday is Monday. It is Monday Night Football."

Hubs: {really trying} "Yeah, but it is your birthday. We should go out or something."

Me: "Umm, it is the Buffalo Dallas game. And it is MNF."

Hubs: "But it is your birthday. Let's at least go out for dinner."

Me: "You know that restaurants are open on Tuesdays, right?"

Hubs: "This is one of the reasons why I love you. Low maintenance, football-loving girls are the best."

And, for the record, the Cowboys won (it was that amazing game with all the icing of the kickers which I find to be tacky). And we had a perfectly lovely sushi dinner later that week.