Saying Hello

I’m watching the Today show, and this very nice lady is telling me how to eat smart on Super Bowl Sunday.  She has, I suppose, reasonable tips, but isn’t part of SBS stuffing your face with hot wings, nachos, and beer?  It’s like telling a kid to eat smart on Halloween or Easter morning.  Thanks, lady, for looking out for me and Vegas, but I’ve got a freezer full of pizza rolls with my name on it.

Speaking of hot wings, I’m surprised my wife isn’t making me eat them 24/7, since after I ate some at awkward dinner, she felt Vegas move for the first time.  I’m beyond thrilled that she finally felt him.  It’s hard to feel like you’re always hoarding the baby, and until that night, Vegas had stage fright every time I’d grab her hand and press it on my belly and say, “Anything?  No?”  I didn’t feel bad hoarding the nausea and back pains, but I’ve been aching to share the movements.  Thanks, Vegas, for finally cooperating and saying hello to your mother properly.  She’s the one who will teach you how to make homemade biscuits, how to tell the difference between a Chickadee and a Dark-eyed Junco, and how to plant an herb garden.  It’s best to get in good now, since all I can offer are skills like how to write a pop song, and the difference between a lager and a stout.  You’ll be well-rounded, to say the least.

Thank you, Vegas, in advance, for your continuing communication – everyone here appreciates it.  It’s much nicer to know you’re still in there growing by feeling you move, as opposed to heaving at the smell of coffee beans.