Wuss

Babies are heavy; I need a massage.

I bought Julie a gift card to a massage place before Lyla was born, and she never used it, not during her entire maternity leave. Is it bad that I'm three weeks into my paternity leave and I'm ready to steal it and use it after dropping off Lyla at the nearest McDonald's Playland?

She's over 16 pounds, which is only a modestly-sized dumbbell. But dumbbells don't squirm and tempt you to bend over incorrectly while holding them. Well, they don't squirm, anyway. I tend to put Lyla in the Baby Bjorn and think to myself, hey I can operate as though there is no baby. What to do...I know, let's vacuum under the couches.

I told Julie the other day that I wanted a present for Mother's Day. I was hoping for an appalled, violently offended response, but all she said was, "What, are you telling me you have a [woman's body part slang]?" which made me sort of appalled and violently offended but not any closer to a massage.

My hope lies in the University of Connecticut. Julie and I have a March Madness bet, and our scores are close enough that it all comes down to whether UConn can defeat Michigan State to reach the final game (we both have North Carolina winning). The stakes of our bet are that the winner gets to make a frivolous $50 purchase, no questions asked. And so I guess my only question is, if I win $50 from my wife in a March Madness bet and spend it all on a massage, would that make me less of a man?