My Wife is a Bundle of Hormones

Oh, this month should be an absolute blast. Rachel has already obligated that I shower her with compliments until Halloween, even if she’s in the process of ripping my head off via Skype, because she can’t help it and science agrees with her. You know? If I have to deal with that part, I should at least have the reward of Rachel being ready to bone 24/7 to counteract it. But no.

According to my cool What To Expect app thingy, our baby is the size of a peach now. A big headed peach. Seriously, the baby is 75% head at this point (it’ll remain that way after birth, due to our genes). The baby is developing tiny bones, so that’s cool too. H/she’s also developing vocal cords, a process that I’m sure we’ll wish was delayed or disabled at various points.

Other than that, we’re both slowly getting back to our normal routines after her visit. My school and writing rhythm has been thrown off a bit, but that’s a small price to pay to see my radiant wife in the flesh (she totally approves this message). The next major milestone in the pregnancy (since, again, I won’t be able to enjoy her wanting to bone 24/7), is figuring out the gender of the kid. All of the silly signals that we’ve read in “how to tell if you’re having a boy/girl/whatever” articles point to us having a boy, but I’m still holding strong to my hunch that we’re having a girl.

I don’t know what happened between the rest of my adult life and Rachel’s pregnancy, but I would really enjoy raising a daughter. That’s something I would’ve never, ever said as recently as the moment before I found out my wife was pregnant.   I always thought about the moment that I would have to kill someone with my bare hands for hurting my little girl or worrying about her becoming a stripper or something else crazy, but I never actually considered the cool parts of having a daughter. Little girls are the cutest creatures on earth, there’s less pressure for them to turn into pro athletes, so it’s relatively easy to raise them to be well-rounded human beings, and when they inevitably turn into the preadolescent/teenage monster version of themselves, they just turn on their mothers, so I’m still in the clear! Plus, it would give me a chance to reenact one of my favorite scenes ever.

Not like I’m ever going to complain about doing father/son stuff, but the thought of having a daughter has really grown on me. Maybe I can wish it into existence.

I booked my flight back to California to be with everyone for New Years. By “everyone,” I mean “my wife, her family, and God knows who else because all of my friends left the Bay Area for greener and cheaper (mostly cheaper) pastures.” Should be fun to be back in the States again, at least until the next time a black or Latin kid gets shot in the face by a cop and I have to watch people justify it. Then I’ll be ready to leave again.

Time’s moving too fast. I have no clue where September went. I’m already in contact with my replacement for Honduras. I’m going to say something that will cause Rachel to stab me through the phone in a pregnant rage while I have to complement her as I swim in my own blood pool. Help.

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