Late

Rookie is now officially overdue and we are ready.  The bag is packed, the nursery is organized, and now we're just sitting around the house enjoying the last remaining lazy days before our world is once again upended.

Unfortunately, I'm not terribly pleased by the lazy-day conversation topics, which include discussions of "mucous plugs" and things called "bloody shows".  Today Kitty asked whether we should pack more towels in case her water breaks in the car.

I love my wife, but this is ridiculous.  

I'm now extremely excited about Rookie's arrival not just because I will finally meet the monster that's been frighteningly rolling around beneath her mother's skin for the last couple of months, but also because we can stop talking about all of the unpleasant things that will be exiting along with her.


Women.  Are.  Gross.

But not you, Rookie.  You're daddy's little girl.  Nothing that you will ever do will be gross.

Of course, I used to think that about Finn too, until he peed on me and threw up in my mouth.  At you won't be able to pee up on me while I'm changing you... will you?  You won't, right?

Hang on.  Maybe I'm not ready for this...