Warning to all the Fellas out there, this one includes what could be misconstrued as womanly TMI (too much information). Just so you know.
Seven years ago I was very pregnant with my little guy. It was Super Bowl XLI–the Indianapolis Colts vs. the Chicago Bears. I haven’t really kept up with pro-ball since I was a teenager and my Daddy and I watched the games together every Sunday. But that year, I was all over the Super Bowl. Peyton Manning was playing.
I love those Manning boys. But Peyton especially. Daddy once said he reminded him of one of my cousins. I can see it. I wonder if my cousin can.
A week or so before the Super Bowl, I sent my Fella a link to a newborn-sized Manning jersey. In the e-mail I wrote, “If the baby comes before the Super Bowl, please order this ASAP. He or she will wear Peyton Manning’s number during the game!”
But the little guy wasn’t ready yet. So we gathered at our church Fellowship Hall with friends and watched the game and ate great snacks. And we laughed and laughed at the commercials. It was a good night. The Colts were playing well.
But by half-time I was exhausted. We loaded up Aub and our Princess and headed to the house. Once there, we got the girls settled and ready for bed, and I was finishing with cleaning up the kitchen. We had the game on the TV where I could see it. I stopped washing dishes during the commercial breaks. And then this one came on.
I lost it. LOL? Yeah. You’ve never seen it happen with such force as the way that laughter came out of my body that night. Projectile laughter might have been invented that very night. I laughed so hard I was crying.
And then…..(step away if you have delicate sensibilities, my friends)…..
I, ummmm, began to wonder if my water had broken. Really? Yes. My water did break with our Princess, and this was a different sensation, but yes. I wondered.
We’ll leave it at this. All was well. No need to rush to the hospital. But when folks start joking about laughing until they “wet their pants,” well, I take that a little personally. Don’t speak of what you know not. All’s I’m sayin’. That commercial still tickles my funny bone. “…..and a chainsaw…..” All these years later.
It was a great night. Peyton, I mean, the Colts won. I was happy. And I had no idea how pregnant I was that night. That was the last Super Bowl and the last Sunday without my little guy. Ever. He was born the following Saturday, over two weeks early. Healthy and beautiful. A good week all in all.
Tonight Peyton is playing in the Super Bowl again. As I write, it’s not looking so good for him and the boys. Poor Peyton.
But he will bounce back. He might not play football much longer (I have no idea here–making no predictions), but he will always be adorably funny. I mean, how could he not be?
Daddy and I loved these commercials:
Besides, if the game doesn’t turn in his favor tonight, there’s always the Double Stuf Racing League. I’m thinking he could go. All. The. Way.
Here’s to the real reason to watch the Super Bowl– the awesome commercials. Hope it was a projectile laughter kind of night for all of you.