'The Clock Ticketh,' or 'Wuddabout Dad?'

My kid's Due Date is starting to seem like some sort of fanciful mirage. And its starting to seriously piss me off.

The ol' day-to-day in La Casa de Hougho seems to be grinding down to a point where, if it were my car, I'd take it in to get something fixed muy pronto-like. Kris is getting worn out earlier and more frequently (she's about 8 months along now, so that shouldn't come to too much of a surprise, I guess), and that means that this guy's getting more stressed out because he's picking up more of the slack due to her inability to take care of as much around the house.

Before I have every, last female across cyberspace rise up to smite me, allow me to continue.

Yes, I totally realize pregnancies are difficult things for women to endure, and I'm not discounting that in the slightest. Nobody's stupid, here - we all know she's got it way worse off than I do. That's a no-brainer, folks. All I'm saying is that this isn't necessarily a stroll through the ol' park for yours truly, either. Dad's suffer through pregnancies - hate to break it to you, ladies, but its true - and I think its high time that women learn to appreciate this. With grad school, work, my writing program, and a toddler at home, I have next to zero decompress time for myself, with day after day of minimal decompress time adding up continuously over a prolonged increment of time, it begins to take a toll on one's stress level and sanity.

My gray hairs have multiplied this year ten-fold - I'm not even kidding! - and I attribute this more to the stressful act of balancing work, school, writing, and parenthood more than I do the fact that I'm currently racing down the final stretch of my 20's and approaching the dreaded 30.

F*** 30.

- Brian

Trouble Brewing...

Well, looks like next summer is pretty much shot.

Turns out the Cannonball's getting some competition come late May/early June - a little on the unexpected side, but good news, I suppose. Sure, we have no idea how we're going to pull an extra $800 plus a month of our collective asses yet, but we've wiggled out of tougher scrapes before without a problem - its just a matter of juggling numbers and selling a kidney or two.

This is what I would like all of you out there in CyberSpace to do for me right now: if you would, please do me the courtesy of praying to the God of Babies and imploring him to give me a boy this time around. Nothing against my daughter, of course, but one's enough.

(I'm thinking ahead thirteen years to what this family would be like with two teenage girls running about, slamming doors and making out with douchebag boyfriends... and I honestly don't think my liver can take the abuse I'd be giving it)

Also, while you're praying to this random god, would you also ask him to just give us one baby this time around? Seriously. That's good enough for us, God of Babies, we really don't need two. I know Kris is in line for twins and all, and - speaking from a strictly statistical view of things - I know that we're getting really, really close to ending up with the hot potato this time around, but we're fine and dandy with just the one. Thanks.

If you could pass that on as well, folks, I'd really appreciate it.

Time for a drink.

- Brian