Brian saw me before I saw him, as I rode the escalator down to Bradley Int'l's baggage claim. He smiled and waved, and I grinned wide enough to split my face, afraid I'd be giving away the big news before I even disembarked from the escalator.
He pulled me into a big hug and we stayed wrapped around each other for long seconds, pulled away to look at each other, and then embraced again.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi, honey,” I replied. “Maybe we should get out of the escalator traffic.”
We stepped over to the baggage claim area and hugged again.
“What's my gift?” he asked.
“Give me your hand.”
He extended his left palm. I placed it low and flat across my belly and looked into his eyes, which shone.
“Really?” he asked.
I nodded.
“I'm going to be a daddy?”
I nodded again.
“Oh my God.
“I know,” I replied.
It is interesting to note that, although he took the news of impending fatherhood very calmly and happily, the mention of the fact that he must now quit smoking sent him into a near panic attack.
Ahhhhhh! How delightful.
Am sure B will have the moral fortitude to curtail his smoking — after all, you have to as well. Take up something more socially acceptable to replace the act like taking breaks to blow bubbles or have kazoo concerts out on the back porch. Something that involves a stick or something between the fingers and blowing. The physical need will pass, you have to deal with the mental one that once had you lighting up whenever certain situations occur. I know, I gnaw through a couple rubber finger puppets with googly eyes a day. Think there may be one in your shower if you need an emergency one, and I know the local “Kyle Store” has a bunch.