Me: All I want is a protein shake for dinner.
Greg: So, have one.
Me: Yeah...I'm not sure I'm supposed to, with all the additives and whatnot.
Greg: Casey, you had KFC yesterday.
Me: Fair enough.
Anyway, I am positively certain my child is adjusting comfortably, since my acid reflux is letting me know there is not much room left for digestion. If you have a sexy image in your mind, you're spot on. As I sit here typing this, wearing a flannel button-down, drinking ginger ale, using some choice curse words, and burping at an alarming volume, I have come to a realization: I am now a truck driver. Whoever said pregnancy isn’t beautiful, is a liar. Also, no offense to truck drivers. I'm sure not ALL of you love flannel.
Gender: I am going to assume it’s a boy because only a son who inherited his father’s giant calves would take up all this room so soon. However, if she’s a girl with Greg’s calves, then there’s always hope for a career as a professional soccer player and/or WWE wrestler. Either way, I can't imagine this will result in a comfortable birthing situation for me. I must call my mother-in-law and talk strategy.
Greg: I am pretty sure Greg has secretly always wanted to be married to a truck driver, so as you can imagine, things are going quite swimmingly for him. Other than that, he is convinced that what is clearly a leg on the ultrasound picture, is a penis.
Me: The tech said it’s a leg.
Greg: Nah, I think she’s wrong.
Me: Well, if she’s wrong, it looks like we’re having a son with two penises.
Greg: Oh, like that would be the end of the world?!
Me: Excuse me, Greg, I have a lengthy truck route to get to this evening.
Bump watch: Instead of too many tacos, I look like I have eaten the Taco Bell chihuahua (what ever happened to him anyway??).
That's all for now, folks. Thanks for dealing with me.