The days keep going by

I'd like to think I'm a mess that you'd wear with pride.



S: Are you going to cry when the baby is born?

M: I don't see why not.

It's weird to sort of floating through life waiting for the next big thing to happen. I go to work; I process loans; I mail out books; but I'm not really all there. I keep waiting for the my cell phone to ring mid-afternoon and to briskly walk into the changing day streaked with blue. I'm waiting for the arrival of a new person to take up residence in the back of my mind.

Let's first lay blame at the feet of one lady from D.C. River Keepers who keeps calling me in the middle of the day to set up an appointment. Look, if it's between the hours of 8:30 and 5:30 P.M. don't call me unless it's an emergency or if you're having my baby. It's a pretty strict rule, I know, but I probably should have laid it down to Michele from River Keepers, so she wouldn't keep asking me if I'd like a rain garden appointment at 7 A.M. when I was thinking that I'd be rushing off to the hospital instead.

Honestly, I just really can't wait to be on the other side of this, so I can dispense my old school wisdom to the uninitiated. Gems like:

Get your sleep now.

They don't come with a manual.

Don't tell your wife she's looking bigger, tell her she's looking prettier.

Two words: Counter pressure.

Babies don't require much, just all of your attention.

Do you know how to change a diaper? Well, don't worry, you'll learn.

Most babies are made of an aluminium steel alloy and can be traded on the black market for some pretty amazing things.

If you have twins you're legally obligated to give on to the state as part of the most recent bail out package enacted by our socialist Congress.

Bring food to the hospital; both of you shouldn't have to suffer.

Babies, like cats, sometimes just need to be left alone to figure things out.

Singing to your wife's stomach can increase the babies IQ by at least 100 points as long as you do as you give them a strict diet of Elton John.



You know, the sort of stuff people don't always give you right off. I'll probably be putting the whole thing in book form, and I'll call it something like: Chicken Soup for little souls or something clever like that. I'll probably win an award, which will make my stubborn unborn daughter proud at some point later in her life, probably between the ages of six and nine. And when she does finally arrive into the world, blue and mushy, I'll send a tweet out there, don't worry.