Target

Last night Julie began to have small contractions just as we were about to leave to have dinner with friends. I called and canceled, then sat on the couch and watched her like she was TV.

"These aren't real contractions," she said.

"You don't know that."

"The real ones will be so bad that I won't even be able to talk. Hear me talking?"

"They might get worse," I offered helpfully.

"You don't have to sit there and watch me."

I decided making a bowl of popcorn wouldn't go over well.

The contractions ultimately did go away. After eating whatever we could find in the house, Julie wanted to go to Target.

"Um, why?"

"Target is fun. Get me my jeans; I don't want to wear fleecy pants."

At Target, Julie looked at fun things to buy.


In the kitchen aisle she picked up a glass mixing bowl. Suddenly she handed it to me and said, "Heeeeeeeeeeeeee."

I looked at the floor, expecting to be standing in Lake Amnio. Something was moving above my sight-line, so I looked up to see Julie waving a hand. I grabbed her wrist to stop the hand and saw sticking out of her finger a tiny shard of glass that had apparently broken off the side of the bowl. "Heeeeeeeeee," she said again.

"Hold still." I removed it.

"Did you get it all?"

I had. Now, when your wife is two days past her due-date and a glass bowl at Target attacks her finger, it's tough not to overreact. I've never struggled to express frustration in any situation, so off I marched with her to customer service.

"Can you page an ETL, please?" I said to the befuddled cashier. ETL stands for Executive Team Lead, which I know because Julie works for corporate. I was hoping that using the abbreviation would make me sound important and like kind of an asshole.

Julie explained what happened, and the cashier ran to look for bandaids. By this time the wound had just about stopped bleeding on its own, and I was hoping it would at least remain visible until the ETL answered the page. Finally the ETL hurried up to us, apologized, and asked if there was anything she could do. I felt stupid by this point, so I made a joke about us being okay as long as the cut didn't send Julie into labor.

Although in retrospect it would've been great if it had. But anyway, we finished our shopping and headed home. This morning, she's had no contractions, but she's definitely feeling nervous about being induced on Wednesday. She's heard that it hurts more than going naturally. I suppose it makes sense because they're making your body do something that it doesn't think it's ready to do, as opposed to letting the process start gradually and then build.

Regardless, it'll be a bit worse than a tiny cut on the finger.