Is That Garlic I Smell?

The amount of pregnancy books that can be found at any bookseller is absolutely overwhelming. There's a title for every individual who might be or is pregnant. From the essential "What To Expect When You're Expecting" to "How Babies Wreck Your Life - A Loving Parent's Story", it's all there. The idea is to prepare one for any situation that might arise and thus create better parents. There's also the motivation of the author to simply sell books regardless of how pertinent the information is, but that's neither here nor there. The books explain the entire process in great detail. First trimiester, expect A, B, and C; second trimester, expect D, E, and F; and so on. With all this information at your fingerprints, how could there be any surprises? Well, there are surprises. Mine has come in the form of garlic body odor.

Let me begin by pointing out that I do not eat very much garlic nor do I wear it in an attempt to keep approaching vampires at bay. I enjoy the occasional garlic in Itlaian dishes and possibly some garlic butter if Papa John's is in order. Despite my low garlic intake over the years, apparently it has been enough to leave me with a cloud of garlic body odor that cannot be contained. The part I'm having trouble understanding is the fact that the only person who thinks I smell like garlic is my beautiful wife, Stacey. Now, in her defense, maybe my family and friends are trying to keep from hurting my feelings. "Man, did you notice Feb smells like garlic something fierce?" "Yeah, I did. Don't say anything though, he might cry." That's just one potential conversation.

The garlic accusations reached their height when I returned home from a run last week. I had a great run, a comfortable 7 miler through the neighborhoods. The thoughts of fatherhood, music, and a life of simplicity danced through my head as the endorphins made it impossible to keep from smiling. I entered the house from my run to find Stacey relaxing on the couch and watching television. Excited to see her, I approached the couch to give her a kiss on the forehead like all good husbands do. I might have gotten within three feet of her before she shot me the most horrified look of disgust I think I've seen. I smelt like garlic. Not just a clove of garlic, but the whole truckload. I guess the sweat permeated the living room with the pungent smell. "I can beat this" I thought. I rushed to the bathroom and took the most aggressive shower I'd ever taken. We're talking Ultimate Showering Championships here. I even took the time to wash and condition my beard. I decided to scrub until my skin burned or the scrubbie thing dissolved, whichever came first. I exited the shower pround of my efforts and beaming with self confidence. Our fathers have always told us to just do what the pregnant lady says. The books tell husbands to succumb to their wives bizarre cravings and irritants during pregnancy. I decided to get pro-active and trump them all. Show the world that we can do more than just give in, we can address these issues and build a better place to live for everyone...sorry, I was actually saving that for an award acceptance speech. Any award will do for those of you out there with award giving credentials. Back to the garlic. I returned to the living room with my chest puffed out and my chin held high. Now I would not smell of garlic and my wife would again accept me with a loving gaze. There was a pep in my stride as I entered the room. I leaned forward from about six feet out preparing for the kiss to the forehead. I had it dialed. This was gonna be great. As I approached her, something unthinkable happened. My wife looked at me with the very same look of disgust as she had just 30 minutes earlier. How could this happen? I smelt like a mountain spring, not garlic. I was defeated. Humbled. I ate my dinner at the opposite end of the room. Stacey could still smell me.

Since that evening, the garlic smell has come and gone. Fortunately I don't always smell like garlic, just sometimes. I continue my attempts to change the way men approach pregnancy but I think I've come to a sobering conclusion. In the future, when a young man asks me what to do about his wife who's expecting, I'll simply answer, "Do what the pregnant lady says".