Ramen Is 3 Blocks There, A Lifetime On The Way Back

baby bump

Dear Blue,

Currently on maternity leave, your mother spent most of her leisurely but uncomfortable afternoon getting her taste buds revved up on cooking shows. When I arrived at the door after a long day at work, she woke up groggily from her nap, looked at me and said, “Let’s go get some crabs.”

A half hour later, this changed to “Let’s go get some ramen” after she watched a cooking show in Japan. We do not live in Japan, Blue, but we are surrounded by Asian restaurants. A ramen restaurant is a mere three blocks away.

Ramen plus walking. Cool. We decided to kill two birds with one stone. At this late stage, every moment of exercise matters to help your mother better force you out into planet Earth, so we walked to eat ramen.

3 blocks isn’t that far to walk when your mother is just carrying you, Blue. Especially when the end result is a steaming bowl of noodles. That very bowl, however, is always our downfall. Every time we go for a walk to eat, we forget that your mother carries a cannonball in her belly, but then on the way back, she lathers that cannonball in broth, ramen noodles and rice. That’s a heavy cannonball, Blue, and the walk back to the house becomes the last mile of an Ironman triathlon.

We made it back to the house, and eventually she fell asleep on the couch. Before that, however, came a period of extreme discomfort. Word to the wise, Blue. When a woman is complaining about discomfort during pregnancy, forget everything she says except what she tells you to do. I know that sounds confusing, but trust me, when the time comes, you’ll understand.

Your mother, in her discomfort, said, “Make me comfortable.” Her belly was full. Her pillow fort was completely intact. She had water. She had her feet propped up. This was about as good as it could get, so I had to think outside the box.

It didn’t take long. For some odd and completely unexplainable reason, she takes pleasure in picking at pimples on my head. She can’t resist it, and I can’t stand it. It hurts and I hate it. I’ll just be sitting there on the couch when she starts to pick at me like a chimpanzee going after gnats, and I nearly always bat her away.

This time, however, I placed my head in her lap, and her aching moans instantly turned to squeals of glee. The discomfort, the shortness of breath, was all temporarily forgotten as she had a field day with my dry scalp.

I made her comfortable, Blue. I have the scabs to prove it.

-Dad

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