Man time

Dear Reader,

How have you been? Good, good. Seen any really great movies lately? Or … books, or something?

OK, I lied. I don’t give a shit about any movies you’ve seen. I have something much more important to tell you. Are you sitting down? If not – you read on your computer while standing? That’s kind of weird.

We’re totally having a boy.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “How was the outcome of this even in doubt? Someone who is 110% man like yourself can’t HOPE but to send your Y chromosome rocketing through the DNA strands of your future child! I mean – the Y should stand for ‘Y would you even think I’m going to be a girl?'”

I know, I know.
I totally agree with you

But the fact of the matter is that you never know in these circumstances. It’s completely possible that my arch-nemesis, wherever he or she might be, attempted to thwart my plans of universal domination by modifying the chromosomes of my unborn child in an attempt to have my wife give birth to a child of a sex I didn’t want, thus sending me into a downward spiral of drinking and death.

But I thwarted him (or her), you see, because I didn’t give a SHIT about what the sex is going to be.

There is an entire UNIVERSE of things to worry about, and I confess that gender is somewhere around position 100 billion in my panoply of concerns, right next to “what if she/he doesn’t have a properly formed pinkie fingernail” and “what if she/he wants to go on Spring Break when they’re 15″ (answer: no. That’s an easy one). And don’t worry – I’m not just a professional worrier. I totally helped. While my wife was being prodded with the wand, I made the following contributions:

Me, to my wife: “I don’t want to alarm you, but there’s something alive in there”

Me, to my wife and the doctor: “20! Yup! Sorry – there are 20 fingers and toes total. 10 of each. So … put that in the computer, or something.”

Me, to myself, after receiving a picture of my son’s pee-pee: “I am 100% keeping this to show to your prom date”

So, to any and all concerned – it definitely looks like a baby in there. I also understand he now responds to sounds, so I’ve been shouting encouragement at him every day, which makes for awkward scenes as I scream “You can do it! You’re THE BEST!” into my wife’s stomach at the super market. People stare, but I tell them they should be offering sacrifices to their new lord and master, and that usually gets them moving. I just don’t understand why we have to get cops involved every time, but whatever.

At any rate – more updates as they come! And begin preparing the palinquin for the birth of your new Lord: “Facekick” (name pending spousal buy-in).

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