Nine Days

We're nine days away from lift off here in Washington, D.C. Unless the doctors are wrong, in which case, we may not even be having a little girl, I mean, it could be a triceratops or something. Think how popular that would make us? We'd probably be on the front of Time or Star magazine and maybe even have our own reality tv show about the rigors of raising a dinosaur in the modern world. And really, I think I'd only need about a season and a half to get my memoir published.

Our little one appears to be a highly advanced creature. Thus far, we feel like she's leaning towards soccer because she loves to kick S in the right side around where her ribs used to be. These solid kicks are probably way stronger than you're going to see from your average child. She's in like the top ten percentile for baby kicking ability, I'd guess, which is pretty much the same thing as the scientific method. Though, she's not really moving around a lot, so we're thinking that she'll probably just play goalie. This will lead to all of us eating some delicious orange slices at half time of her games, I'll be the coach, except maybe we'll get a boy to play on the team and copy the plot of the movie Ladybugs, which I haven't seen, which will turn out to be a "delicious" way to spend our time. I put it in quotes because I enjoy orange slices.

We're also pretty excited that she has her head so far down. This shows the sort of obedience that you want in any child, and provides further fodder for my whole, I want a girl child first because they're easier conjecture. Clearly, most children are still busy flipping around and stuff, but we've got a little ball of energy ready to shoot out into the world after nineteen hours of labor or something. Is labor hard? Don't ask me, I'll be talking with a prison guard in the waiting room. Mad Men anyone?

I've also begun to speak to S's belly during the evening in halting Spanish, so that she'll arrive in the world fully bilingual, capable of saying things like, Hello, and how's it going? but in Spanish. We're also hopeful that this speedy brain development will lead her to be on the cover of Star. When you get right down to it, the best reason to have a baby is to try and get briefly famous, so you can publish a memoir. Thomas Jefferson said that, and probably then a bunch of other neat stuff that should help his corpse get elected to the house.

I've also noticed that the little bundle of what the heck are we going to do with this tiny human being who cries and poops a lot, as we've lovingly taken to calling her, enjoys it when I raise my voice. This shows a good and willingness to listen to my commanding voice, which bodes well for the future when I'm giving her orders like, "You'll leave this house in that outfit when hell freezes over!" And then we'll probably sit down and have a nice talk about what a Christian actually considers hell, like whether we're meaning Dante's Inferno leveled hell or absence from God, or ice or whatever because that's the sort of thing seventeen year old girls like to do on a Friday night, I hope.