Moose out front shoulda told ya.

Imagine if, when you were a kid, you woke up on Christmas morning and your parents told you that Santa Claus was running a little behind schedule:

You: "Um... What?"
Your Parents: "Behind schedule."
You: "What does that mean?"
Your Parents: "It means that he'll be here... Just not today."
You: "So, he's coming?"
Your Parents: "Right."
You: "Just not today?"
Your Parents: "Precisely."
You: "So... Tomorrow?"
Your Parents: "Not necessarily."
You: "Come again?"
Your Parents: "You see, he might be here tomorrow, but also maybe not."
You: "What the fuck kind of program are you running here?"

OK, that last line is probably a stretch, but you get my point. Amanda and I were under the impression that our little ball of joy would be arriving on or before the 24th of June. And yet the red-letter date came and went without the proverbial stork paying us a visit.

It's the damndest thing. You spend nine months taking candy out of your own personal advent calendar, and then when you get to the big day, you open the little window and there's a note that says, "Would it be okay if we gave you this last piece of chocolate in like a week? Ten days, tops."

Waiting on the World to Change

Sung to the tune of the ubiquitous John Mayer song:

Me and Amanda
We're kinda freakin' out
We're about to become parents
About that part there's not a doubt

But the thing that remains unknown
The thing that keeps us up at night
Is when this baby will come join us
Whether next week or tonight

So we keep waiting
Waiting on the world to change
Me and Amanda waiting
Waiting on the world to change

It could be tomorrow morning
Or maybe not until July
So we keep waiting
Waiting on the world to change

Baby Fishmouth

In the interest of preparing Koufax for the arrival of our daughter next month, Amanda and I have been walking around our condo with a newborn doll. We have "fed" this thing, changed its clothes and even equipped it with a comically oversized diaper; Koufax has been predictably uninterested in the whole charade:

Curious to see how Koufax would react to me singing to the "baby," I performed Rock-A-Bye Baby over cereal this morning and, for the first time in my life, the beloved nursery rhyme's lyrics struck me as odd:

Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetop,
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock,
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all.

So, the baby is seriously injured, right? In a best case scenario? Sweet dreams, little one.