football and placenta

My husband, Travis, is a die-hard Chiefs fan. I think he has been to every home playoff game since 1993, and I’m certain that today, experiencing a playoff win with our son, Caden, will go down in history as one of the best. I’d like to tell you a story about one of the worst. 
Five years ago this weekend, anticipating Lucy’s arrival, I scheduled a natural childbirth class at a birthing center. I didn’t realize that the Chiefs would make it to an (away) playoff game on the same day. Travis patiently sat through talks on prenatal massage and water birth with a room full of smelly bearded dudes in Birks/socks and their hippie baby mamas. No one else in the room cared about the game. They probably didn’t even know the Chiefs were playing. At one point when the instructor suggested abstinence for those at risk of pre-term labor, this weirdo who couldn’t keep his hands out of his lady’s flowy skirt shouted “FAT CHANCE!” 
Travis snuck out to the truck to check the score and keeping with Chiefs playoff tradition, they were sucking. He came back in, and the instructor was discussing putting my placenta in a dehydrator so we could eat it later. 
And that was the worst Chiefs playoff game of Trav’s life. The end.