It is, but really I couldn't think of a better title. I've read that this is about the time that lil Benny can hear voices. Jess says that he gets excitable when he hears me. I fear that she's just yankin my chain to make me feel important in this process. Either way, it's neat because he hears me and likes it, or JMomma loves me enough to lie to me. I'm sure that if I were him, I would run and hide when Big Sister yelled at my mommy's belly, and me by extension. JMomma also swears up and down that he really loves the smell of bacon. This confirms that he's definitely my child. Bacon frying in the pan gets me out of bed quicker than a fire alarm. Coincidentally, every time that we cook bacon in this apartment, the smoke detectors go crazy. Perhaps it's a Pavlovian response.
A Viking friend of mine just found out that his ladyfriend is expecting a lil Viking in about 6 1/2 months. Get ready to ride the roller coaster BRand. I'm not sure that the world's ready for a super-nice, Spanish speaking, classically good lookin' tiny Viking with a preternatural love of Italian food and sloppy punk rock, but I suspect that it is. Although this should come as no surprise to me, hearing that a friend of mine is expecting his first child has definitively reinforced that it's Grown Up Time. Is it wrong that I refuse to stop dancing at odd times or making up and singing absurd songs at the drop of a hat? Or that fart jokes are still funny? It's funny how I didn't read anywhere that being an adult means you have to be serious about everything. No one ever told me that I can't blast the stereo and rock out with the kids when I grow up. I didn't go to class the day they taught you not to play video games and stay up late watching shitty movies in order to be grown up. It's just rice and beans, folks. I think the muchkins will appreciate more the fact that I've always been willing to enter their world for a few minutes, than the fact that I constantly try to be a better me, for them. Perhaps not. So it goes.