There’s Spinach in My Pants.
I may be letting a bit of a secret out by admitting this, but... I'm not really just like I am in this blog versus Real Life. I write in here with stories and opinions that paint a certain picture, build a persona of someone that isn't quite like me.
When the time comes for your beloved Wife to undergo painful and serious abdominal surgery in order to bring forth your child, you take it VERY seriously. So be warned, these pictures are NOT meant to be funny.
I lied about being in IT, I actually AM a doctor. I had just finished my rounds when Wife was wheeled into the PreGettingBabyCutOuttaYou Area.
And by "rounds", I mean "can you believe they didn't even kick me out or ask me to knock it off?"
I found out that you don't need tits to make the sounds coming out of her head stop.
I can't be positive, but I think she looks like me.
I'm also not completely certain, but I may actually be completely, 100 percent, absolutely, wholly and truly, lamblastedly, shaznasterly, SMITTEN with my child.
We got to take her home on Australia Day and I think I managed to convinced her that the fireworks and barbecues were all in her honour. She's obviously not impressed, but that may be because Mother Nature tried to cook her. She does this though, this sleeping thing, where she sleeps all the time. Sleepy. Sleepery.
