After a lot of huffing and puffing (I think Maude may have played a role as well, I’m not sure), I have a son. (Take that, Henry VIII!) I am so not ready. Rod Flanders is extremely cute, despite his genes, but looks exactly like an infant Winston Churchill. Never have so many slept so little for so few.
I’m finally getting a little better at this parenting thing now that my mother-in-law has finally moved out and Rod has calmed down a bit. Whenever he starts crying, part of me is terrified that he’ll never stop. Infants crying never really bothered me before, but for some reason, when Rod gets going, I feel like going crazy. It’s intolerable.
Now I know that Mormonism is false, because there is no way anyone would choose me to be their parent in the pre-existence. Just like picking teams for dodgeball, even if it came down to just me and Michael Lohan, I’m pretty sure most people would be like, “Hey, Satan, do you still have openings for angels, because I don’t think this getting a body thing is for me.”
Despite all this, I have to say we are pretty damn fortunate to have our miracle baby. I say he’s a miracle, not least for spending 4 months in a freezer as a blastocyst. He’s our unfrozen caveman baby. Hmmm, maybe there’s still time to change the birth certificate…