Top: How I look now. Not bad, a bit of a belly and some softness around the face. Bottom: That's me, tip-top shape just a few years ago.

AS IF living a long and happy life with my wife wasn’t reason enough to stay healthy, now there’s another reason – my baby daughter is due to arrive in early July.

Even when I had a standing reservation for nightly buffalo wings and by-the-gallon beer, I knew that one day I’d be a father. I thought maybe buffalo wings and baby bottles would be a little farther removed, but once my wife-to-be and I started talking about it, we were planning for a right-away pregnancy after our wedding.

Who knew it would be on the first try!

Now, James Allorski and I have something of a get-in-shape contest going on, and now I’m the one with extra motivation. Why wouldn’t I want to be in best shape of my life the day I become a dad? I know what you’re thinking: “You’re going to lose weight while your wife is pregnant?” Well, first off, there’s no rule that says dads-to-be have to gain weight with their wives. It just seems to happen that way. Secondly, my wife is now four months out from delivery, and still in pretty damn good shape. In fact, she just begged me to take her on a kayak trip. Don’t think we’ll get to it, but she still wants to go.

Technically, I’ve lost two pounds since I found out the little one is on the way. But, I’m also far from “the best shape of my life.” Now, I’m not too far off (pictures to the right, top). I mean, I was in phenomenal shape in high school … but who wasn’t, right? That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m not too far off my best as an adult. That was about four years ago (pictures on the right, bottom), I guess. That’s about what I’m going for, with maybe a little less with the weights and a little more on the overall fitness. Thinking about it, I don’t need to be able to bench press 350 pounds to play with my daughter, but it might help to have the cardio to chase her around for hours and hours and hours.

So, with a due date in July’s first week, my goal is to hit that shape by July 1. At that time, I’ll also get a physical and complete workup to make sure I’m fit to be a dad and husband for a long, long, long time.

JUST TO RECAP the last year: Three-hundred sixty-five days ago, I was living about 3,000 miles to the east. Oh, and I was alone. Just me and my dog. I wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and I wasn’t counting down the days until fatherhood was official. Take the opposite of those things, and that’s me today: West coast, two dogs, a wife and a baby on the way. What did you do in 2009?

I still sit back with awe at how quickly things can change. Just two days ago, I spoke with one of my college buddies on the phone. “You’re the first one of us to really grow up,” he said. The weird thing is, he also agreed with my saying I was the last one to start. “You kind of did it all at once,” was his reply.

So, yeah, there’s only one more of “us” (my boys from college) that are all growed up. But there are about another three on the verge, so to speak. In some cases, it’s the guys who know it … in other cases, it’s the women. Either way, a few of them have been asking me, “What the hell do I do when [fill in the blank]?” My answer usually includes an anecdote or a near-match example from my experience.

But to be honest, and I tell them, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

Now, what I’m doing seems to be working … as far as I know, anyway. And that’s because I’ve been doing the same shit the whole time. As in, I didn’t go into my “best behavior” mode early on. My wife – before she was my fiancee, before she was even my girlfriend – knew what she was getting from Day 1. I guess that’s my advice. And I’m not going to give you the same old “just be yourself” crap line that people have been passing out since Caveman Ugg first noticed Cavelady Juggs. I’ll take the same basic mode and go with it a step further. I’m telling you not to hide your bullshit. We all – men and women – have it, and it’s eventually going to come out anyway.

Right on early, she saw my stubborn side. She saw my (slight) chauvinism. She saw my tendency to be obsessive compulsive. She even saw there’s a temper down in there deep. (I’ve never been mad at her, actually. It’s usually other men for being complete tools – the Prime Preps guy at Christy’s – or not doing right by other people or at women for being heartless and cold). She even learned early on that I sometimes just have to scratch my balls for five minutes when I wake up … helps get me going. She saw I like soccer. Damn, I know, right! She saw I hurt my knee something fierce playing football, and I still have anger and resentment about it to this day. She saw I’m a sportswriter and making utter shite for a living.

But in not hiding all that crap, I also didn’t hide all the things she loves about me. The things that, quite often, men hide without not knowing it. She saw my warm, tender side. She saw my affection. She saw my tenacious drive to provide for her and any family that comes in the future. She saw that from Day 1, she was mine and I was hers and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

So, there’s a reason “just be yourself,” is probably the oldest piece of dating advice out there. It’s just that people usually give it out at the wrong time, or they try to apply it in the wrong manner. “Just be yourself” isn’t great for picking up women. But it’s a damn fine mantra for making sure the right one sticks around.

LAYING AROUND, that’s pretty much what we’ve been doing for the past week or so. Not out of laziness, I assure you, but because both my wife and I got totally floored last week with colds.

Missing work isn’t an option for either of us, so that’s what we’ve been up to. Working, and laying around.

In that laying around, we’ve tried to start watching several shows together. Of course, we were already enthralled by Dexter — Showtime’s thriller about a serial killer family man. Adding to that, we’ve started watching ABC’s V, SyFy’s Stargate Universe, another Showtime series Secret Diary of a Call Girl (yay nudity and hookers!), and I’ve got her watching Spike’s The Ultimate Fighter again. And those are in addition to a few shows I was already watching.

This method of TV viewing greatly differs from how we’d done it before. We were the DVD set champions. We went through the entire series of Battlestar Galactica in what seemed like weeks. I watched the first three seasons of Dexter in two weeks. Before we started watching “new” TV, we scoured the DVD listings for other shows we could watching in quick succession. We started a few; they were lame and we canceled our Netflix.

Now, we’re stuck watching TV one episode at a time like the rest of America, and we — to be perfectly honest — find it quite lame. How the hell does everyone keep that many stories running in their head all at once? God, please let the DVR fill up with a few weeks’ worth of TV!

It’s already winter, so there’s less motivation (and sunlight) to get outside, and being sick does nothing but get you all caught up on your TV watching.

My only hope is that we kick this cough ASAP so we can get off the couch, get out the golf clubs or kayaks a few more times before it’s too bitterly cold so that DVR will full up and we can go back to watching TV the way we prefer — five episodes at a time and ONLY on rainy days!

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” I yelled down, planning how to delicately put the fact that we just don’t have enough space in our current two-bedroom town house — especially in the kitchen.

You see, our place was originally part of a military base. Specifically, our unit was designed for officers’ quarters. I know there was a chance there were some families living in these units, but mostly they were single men probably not known for their cooking prowess.

The day before, I had just gone to the grocery store to re-stock. As I’ve mentioned numerous times before, my wife and I are on completely opposite work schedules. Because of that, we generally cook our meals separately. When it comes to the grocery story, she’s usually got a list and I have my own. There are usually more veggies and salad on her list, and mine is usually stronger in the meat and bread department.

So, I had gone to the store with two pretty massive lists in hand (it had been a while since we bought any groceries). I carried in the many, many, many bags of food, and began the tetris-like putting away of the groceries.

Honestly, I had found a somewhat sensible place for everything save … one … bag … of chips.

That night, I had opened the bag — Tostitos Hint O’ Lime — and had a few with some salsa. I didn’t want to leave the bag loose on the counter. There was no more room in the cupboard. We don’t have a pantry, and the microwave was just sitting there … empty.

It had been a while since my wife had asked for any microwave meals. She’s been trying to eat more fresh foods. I figured the microwave was as good a place as any for an opened bag of chips. It’s airtight, no bugs can get it, and they’d be good and out of the way.

But, the next day, my wife needed the microwave. When the inevitable WTF came, my eventual reply was … we don’t have any room for them anywhere else.

Oh, and we’ve also got two dogs — more on them later. We need a house. I’m working on it.

So, when she told me how she felt about a recent change I made to my routine, I knew she meant it.

I thought I’d found the perfect “solution” to our situation. I hesitated to use solution there, because it doesn’t solve a problem, exactly.

In previous columns, I’ve written about how my work schedule (4 p.m. – 1 a.m.) and her work schedule (9 a.m. – 6 p.m.) make it nearly impossible for us to see each other. It’s just reiteration here, but I’ll come home at 1 in the morning (12:30 if we get done with everything a little early), and 9-times-out-of-10 she’ll be in bed. Sure, there’s the random time when she’s just on the way to bed. And the few times when she — having the odd night shift the next day — will still be up, but tired and essentially on her way to bed.

I’ll come home, poke my head in the bedroom and give her a quick goodnight. Then, I’m off to the den to wind down, watch TV and have a snack (or a meal — don’t judge me for eating a full meal at 1 a.m. — don’t most people eat dinner after work?)

Anyway, the change to routine was that I would go to my 24-hour gym after work. Since there’s no crowd and no distractions, I can get in a serious workout. The kinds of workouts I was doing in my early 20s when I was in the best shape of my life.

I didn’t think it would be an issue, until I started getting home at 3 a.m. each night. What I didn’t realize is how being totally alone all night (from 6 p.m. until 3 a.m.) made my wife feel. Last week, after about three days of her cooking and eating dinner alone, watching nighttime TV alone, winding down and going to bed alone, she started to feel really lonely.

When I’d come home after work, and she’d be asleep, I’d be right in the next room working or watching TV, goofing with the dogs, doing laundry, whatever. She’d be asleep, but she knew I was there. She always says it makes her feel safe to sleep when she knows I’m home.

That’s what I didn’t realize.

We’ve lived together for almost a year now, and already she’s used to having me knock around when she’s drifting off to sleep. Each time I went to the gym last week, she was half awake when I got home.

On that third night, she told me how she felt. And I thought right then and there about scratching the late-night workouts. I mean, it’s not natural, really, to be working out from 1 a.m. – 3 a.m., right? But, then again, there’s nothing about my hours that is “natural.” So, it fits me.

Since then, she told me it’s just something she’d have to get used to. And she said I should continue to go (I’m sure she wouldn’t mind to see me walking around a little slimmer and a little more ripped), and that she was proud of my dedication.

I know she wants me to go. She said so, and really meant it. (Not one of those situations where she says “Sure, go out with your friends if you want to” but really means “No, I think we should go out to dinner just the two of us because I haven’t seen you in days.”). Like I said, she doesn’t do that. She’s great like that.

So, when she tells me she wants me to go to the gym latenights, I know she means it. But I also know there’s a part of her that wants me to come home.

I’m going to have to leave you hanging here. I’m not going to open this up to a vote or solicit opinions from the masses. It’s something I’m going to work out on my own. When I figure out what to do, she’ll be the first to know and you’ll be the second.

Tonight? She told me to have a good workout.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a pretty damn cool job. I’ve never gotten a blank stare when I’ve told someone I’m a sportswriter. Not like some might get when they say they’re an accountant, or a banker, or a data analyst.

It’s just that the hours are getting to me. When I was single, working until midnight or 1 a.m. made it somewhat difficult to have a social life. But not really. Not in my instance, anyway. You see, I lived in a town (Greenville, NC) that believed in staying up late. I had a corps of friends that would always still be out when I got off work. Sure, I’d show up around midnight-30 a few drinks and a few laughs behind — but I’d always catch up. Then there were the (numerous) times when nearly the entire work crew would head out for some late-night wings and beer. Undoubtedly, I would always get text messages throughout the last hour or so of my shift asking when I was done with work, what I was doing and telling me to meet someone at some place.

Now, that’s all changed.

One reason I don’t have those friends or that lifestyle anymore is because I moved 3,000 miles from that town and those people. The hours of the job that seemed like they encouraged social encounters now completely destroy them. My social life is changed, now, too.

You see, happy hour for me used to be midnight to 3 a.m. (OK, I know that’s three hours). Now, it’s 7 to 10 p.m. (See, still three hours). The only problem, I’m working those hours.

Since hanging up the bachelor persona, I’ve entered a world of early-to-bed’ers. That’s not a bad thing. You see, most of my friends here (with the exception of a few that I work with) get off work sometime between 5 and 7 o’clock in the evening. This is the first time my work has actually gotten in the way of the things I wanted to do.

Something’s gotta give.

Take my wife — the person with whom I’d most like to be with. Her schedule is usually Monday-Friday, 9 a.m. – 6 p.m. If I’m 4 p.m. – 1 a.m. (working every Saturday and several Sundays a month), you can see how that’s not going to work out. I’m asleep when she leaves for work; she’s asleep when I get back from work. Shitty, eh?

There are several sets of friends we’d love to see more. And there are several more people we could become closer friends with if we could see them more. Hell, there’s a old college friend of my wife’s that now lives in our county. Haven’t seen her yet, because somebody works ’til 1 in the morning five days a week.

There have already been two family birthday’s I’ve only been able to make a cameo appearance at because of working on Sundays.

I suppose I should have seen it coming. That which worked so well for the bachelor life I led became so imperfect once “I” became a “we.”

I haven’t dusted off the resume yet, and don’t plan to in the very near future to be honest. I mean, let’s face it. I am a sportswriter.

But for how long?

I’m also a husband. Maybe someday I’ll be a dad. It’s inevitable that there will come a day when one (or both) of those titles outweighs the title on my business card.

I know what you’re thinking: “Just take the bugger off.” Well, you’re talking to a guy who’s lost an iPod no less than four times. Sure, it showed up (eventually) each time … but is that really a chance I want to be taking with my wedding ring? FYI: My iPod is one of those shuffles. It’s about the size of a quarter, which is about the same size as my ring. Same color, actually. If I can lose the iPod, I can lose the ring. My wife takes her rings off every now and then, but she’s got a jewelry box. I don’t have one. I’m not getting one. That, and she actually remembers when she needs to take it off. She’s more jewelry aware. I didn’t realize I was about to work out with a ring on until I walked through the gym door.

Another suggestion from a friend is to wear a necklace or something around my neck and just put the ring on that when I work out. OK, well, now we’re taking a guy who’s never before worn jewelry and now he’s running around wearing a ring and a necklace?! Sorry. The wedding ring’s acceptable, expected even. I’m not adding any necklaces, bracelets, ear rings, tongue rings or toe rings.

Next!

I think I’ll take a page from the professional athletes. Why not, right? OK, most athletes do remove their rings. But at that level (NBA, NFL, NHL, MLB), they all have near-luxury locker rooms with personal shelves and guards outside the door. That’s not quite the scene at the 24-Hour Fitness I go to. But soccer players … well, most of them wear their wedding rings right in the games. Sure, the rules say no jewelry, but many of them use athletic tape to cover their rings. Following that example, I’ll have to keep a roll of take in my gym bag. I’ll probably lose a few rolls. But, lose a roll of tape, I’m out $1.99. Lose that wedding ring, and I’ll have some ’splaining to do.

This week, I’ll try taping it up. We’ll see how that works.

Another suggestion, albeit a costly one, was to go ahead and buy about a dozen of the same ring and just keep ‘em in the change tray in my car.

Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

Having only been married for a week, about the only thing I’ve notice being a real difference is traveling with a spouse. Let me tell you, there’s a lot more luggage. Now, my wife is a light packer compared to many others (her suitcase was about half the size of the ones I helped each her mother and sister load into the back of the SUV the day we left for the wedding which took place 3,000 miles away). But still, this trip was the first time I’ve ever checked a bag at the airport. She checked two, and I went ahead and checked one I had (with all my clothes in it). We went ahead and carried on the bags with our toys (electronics, cameras, etc). In all, arriving and leaving the airports we had: my backpack filled with clothes, her roller suitcase, her shoes/toiletries bag, a camera bag and computer roller bag. On the way home, we added another bag filled with goodies for family members. I carried all the carry-on bags, and even got stopped once at the gate. The airline employee saw the four carry-on bags I was toting, and pointed at my empty-handed wife, “Are some of those hers?” I replied with a simple, “Yep.”

By the way, I insisted on carrying the bags.

Only in the last several years have I really felt like I honed my traveling skills. I’m the kind of man who gets to the airport in plenty of time to make it through security (who hasn’t until now checked luggage), and find my gate in time to grab a newspaper and tasty beverage before my flight boards. As soon as I get to the airport, I’m bee-lining to my destination. No distractions, no pauses, no detours. I’m the same way when I get off the plane and I, perhaps, have to use the bathroom. No breaks, no pauses, no detours. I must admit, I think this slightly frustrated my new wife, maybe just a little bit. “We’re in Chicago, we’ve got to find deep-dish pizza,” she’d say. “I have to use the bathroom,” I said. “Here’s Uno’s, but there might be other kinds, we should look around,” she said. “I have to use the bathroom,” I said again. “Fine, we’re here,” she finished. We got the pizza only a little bit later.

I’m sure over the years, I’ll learn to relax a little. But I take it as my mission to make sure she doesn’t have to worry about anything when we travel. I’ll carry the bags, charge through security (legally, of course) and make my way to the departure gate. All she has to do is walk beside me.

On the plane, there is one major difference. On long flights, I’ve always preferred a window seat. You see, I’m a pretty darn good plane sleeper. Given the proper lean on the side of the plane and the window shade down, I can snooze from takeoff to touchdown. My wife, however, needs a window seat to feel comfortable on the plane — especially during takeoff and landing, it seems. So, from now on, I’ll be sitting on the aisle. It’s a change, but I don’t mind. Especially if it makes flying better for her. She once offered to switch, but I told her, “I can’t do that and be like that jerk on The Wedding Singer.” Sitting on the aisle with her is better than sitting by the window with a stranger beside me. I was never a plane talker, by the way. I always saw planes at a time for naps or headphones.

Another thing about traveling I’ve noticed a difference in was the layovers. I used to hate long layovers. I’d always try to schedule my flights as close as comfortable possible, say 40 minutes. That gave me just enough time for a bathroom break, a quick drink and to get to the next gate. Long layovers just gave me the to have one too many bad beers at an over-priced airport bar or to become bored just sitting by the gate. Now, I actually prefer long layovers. It gives me a chance to relax a little. We had four long layovers on our eight flights over the last two weeks, and they were more like a trip to the mall with my wife than just empty time between flights. We still had some pretty bad beer in a few overpriced airport bars, but there was one IPA in Chicago that was worth savoring.

Now that we’re home, the real adventure begins. She’s dragging me for my first-ever flu shot tomorrow. Fun.

MY WEDDING is three weeks away. That should just about spell it out for you, the official end my bachelorhood. And I’ve got to tell you, I was damn good at being a bachelor. Mine was the place where the “big game” was watched. I had the big place with an extra room I could do anything with. No matter where you were in my pad, a TV could be seen. I had the dog that was more like a roommate (we were even known to each have a steak every now and then). I had the back yard with the grill that was used several times a week. I had nothing in the fridge, but beer. I had just enough women around not to go crazy.

Even my soon-to-be wife has mentioned how well-suited I was for bachelorhood. There’s a key word there, was. Not too long ago, we were talking about our pasts, and she even said, “Yeah, but you were actually happy while you were single.” Even my aunt once said, “Can’t believe you met a girl. We didn’t think that was ever going to happen.” I think even my parents were getting tired of just seeing pictures of the girlfriends that were gone before they could meet them.

With the wedding being counted down in terms of days, and the event planned down to the minute, I’m proof that even the most “single” men can settle down.

In my case, a co-habitation engagement has been a decent pregame for the “next life.” Just how is a guy like me supposed to make a change like this? I’ve already moved from living 10 years in a college town to taking up residence in a townhouse between the “family with the kid who goes to be early” and “the eccentric retired guy.”

I have no doubt the first year of marriage is going to be an eye-opening experience, but I know this guy can get it done. The first key to success is having a girlfriend/fiancée/wife who understands the kind of freebird-turned-husband she’s got on her hands. She knows I’m going through something, at least. She knows the life in my tomorrow is completely different from the life I had yesterday.

Over the next year, I’ll keep track here just what it takes for the bachelor like me to take the ultimate step into manhood … settling down and starting a clan of his own.

And to clue you in on some of the things I’m going to be talking about: I’m writing this on my laptop in my “man room.” The room in the house with the sports memorabilia displayed all over, a DVR full of recorded games and an old-school tavern dart board on the wall. Right before she went to bed, my wife-to-be walked out of the room with a smile and said, “You do your man things.”

Extra Bit 1 – Oh, and about that laptop. It’s actually another example of what I’ve been talking about. I can’t even settle down with a single operating system. I’ve got Windows on one partition (so I can run Photoshop and InDesign) and Linux on the other (for everything else and the higher security).

Extra Bit 2 – In the next year, one of our goals is to get a house complete with a garage. Imagine the possibilities!