So, first things first. 2009 is going to be awesome. Why? Because that will be the year that my wife gives birth to whatever world conqueror is the result of my potent seeds.
That’s right, you sons-of-bitches. My wife is pregnant. And before you snickeringly ask if it’s mine, I will save you the time – of course it is. I’m so much man that I could probably just look at a girl and get her pregnant, though I don’t do that for obvious reasons. Taxes, for example.
2009 will also be awesome for many other reasons. Reasons that are awesome. But the most awesome thing, of course, will be the awe-inspiring birth of my child, who will be named something totally awesome like Tiberius or Xaos or Peter or something. I haven’t thought that far ahead. If it’s a girl, she will not be named Candi (no offense, Candi. I think you dance beautifully). Or … almost anything ending in “i”, I guess. Bambi. Stabbi. Nothing like that.
At any rate, A-dawg is currently 16 weeks pregnant, as of this coming Wednesday. About a month ago we went for the first ultrasound, which was pretty freaky – to wit, I was sitting with my wife looking at the monitor where they project the baby picture with science, and there was blackness and then, all of a sudden, bam! There’s a baby, just like in health class. And I exclaimed “Holy shit! It’s a baby!” and hugged my wife’s head. And then the picture moved over the fucking heart, which flickered on the screen, and then a voice whispered in my head “dude. I think that thing is ALIVE!” and my old life downed a fifth of Jack Daniels, boarded a ship bound for Tomorrowland, and sailed away, never to return. I saw him standing on the crow’s nest, swaying drunkenly, and he didn’t even look back. Heavy.
Last week we went and heard the heartbeat, which was loud and strong, much as you would imagine the heartbeat of a champion thoroughbred like myself would sound. I can’t believe this kid hasn’t busted out of the womb already, charging like mad through the streets, making women swoon and men run in fear (or vice-versa if she’s a girl. Or not – I’m not biased. Fuck it. As long as someone swoons and someone runs in fear). But my wife assures me he or she must bake a little longer. Whatever.
Obviously, that pretty much will eclipse everything else that happens in 2009 (sorry, Obama). But consider yourselves warned. And have a great new year!