... and the creation thereof.

I actually feel the deep need to stop with that sentence because I assume most intelligent people will by now have figured out what is going on in my, our ... well, LIFE, but, for the hard of hearing I shall utter the phrase with singsong clarity and jubility (if that is even a word, and if it isn't, it sure as fuck is now): Suus, my better three-quarters is pregnant and any and all colloquialisms you want to call her are totally justified: bun in the oven, preggers, knocked up ... you name it, she is it. Not that she will approve of you naming her those but be assured that you can pretty sure to outrun her these days.

This is a situation that has been going on for a while now, three months, to be randomly exact (if that makes sense (woman math is confusing to the point of confusing woman women-doctors ... which was kind of funny to see)) and will eventually end in the birth of a kid, either boy or girl, but my guess is girl. Don't ask me why. Probably because girl names are far more interesting.

Kid is doing fine, for as far as we can tell with the mommy still surrounding it. Everything that needs to be there is there. Everything that should be good is good. We are well pleased with the fact that she's not even born yet but seems already to be conforming to our expectations.

That was a joke, by the way.

Mother is doing quite well, I should say. Not throw-uppity at all but just fucked up tired a lot which is fine (for me, at least); we have a bath and we have a bedroom and in the first she can watch DVD's and in the second she can now watch television. Practically the first thing I DID (fuckingfuckers, say something a bit earlier) upon hearing the good tiding was to install television for my girl upstairs. That ought to tell you something, though I do not know what. The families have all been informed and they are henceforth seriously linked through birthdays and other family stuff as yet to come and I'm already looking forward to the sparks that most certainly will fly like a fucking firework.

It's fun though, calling everyone granny, grandpa, auntie or uncle as the case might be. It makes them giggle, usually.

As a direct result of our exceptionally effective love-making, though, our house will be a fucking shambles for some time to come, meaning, burly men will be doing rebuilding stuff. Which is not fun. However, as a further result of our highly effective love-making the house will probably be a shambles for about 18 years to come due to kid (and it's not as if I'm a neat freak myself) so it will be a nice way of easing into the mess that is yet to come. Although, I gather, at a crtain age kids can be put to work doing dishes so, who knows, in the end, the neatness situation might improve!

Anyway, looking forward to getting to know the kid. An ammmalgammmation of me and Suus will most definately be an interesting phenomenon.

You can tell how important it is, by the way, by my complete lack of comment on the recently held superbowl. Saints won, deservedly so, unexpectedly so, it was a thrilling game, Colts lost, always a good sight, Manning threw an interception and managed to look nothing like how he did in the rest of the season, New Orleans has something to celebrate, all that ... and I forgot to write about it here. My priorities seem to be re-alligning themselves. Though I will be pleased with baby clothes in Patriot, Saints, Ravens, Falcons variations ...

No comments: