"I was just thinking the same thing," he said, grinning - and not taking his eyes off of the football game on tv.
"Is it sad that we now gauge our sex life by whether or not we'll wake up a sleeping baby?"
"Ungh," he grunted - either in agreement or because defense showed blitz or someone dropped a ball/caught a ball/ saw a ball - I don't follow "The Football."
A few minutes later I was standing at the sink when I felt a presence behind me.
I felt something pressing against the back of my jean-clad butt and legs.
I giggled and glanced back at my husband who was grinning.
I was beginning to make a snarky comment about how it was probably half-time when - we heard distinct crying and disgruntled sounds coming from the other room.
Baby Harry, sensing his parents were about to do something that would distract their attention from his many needs for longer than five minutes, had awoken and was not pleased.
"Your turn," I said, turning back to the dishes.
"Ungh," he grunted.
This time I'm sure it was not because of a bad football play.