Not a Baby Blog II

In Venezuela there's an expression that says a baby is born carrying bread under its arm.  Not sure what that means or who would even want a loaf of bread dripping with amniotic juices, but I can tell you that the house has been filling up in a hurry with all manner of baby-related objects.  Here are just a few of the things that have appeared as if by magic ever since my sometimes-pregnant wife announced to the world that she was with child:

Orb.  We have no idea where it came from or what its purpose is or why all the fish and plants have died since the orb's mysterious appearance a few weeks ago.

Baby books.  There are countless books about birthing methods and child rearing and about a billion experts ready to tell you that your child will certainly become a homicidal maniac if you don't follow their proven methods.

Giant pillow.  Each night this massive, hypoallergenic pillow forms the foundation of a pillow fort that my wife constructs around herself at bedtime, effectively reducing my share of the mattress to a three-inch sliver.

Bigger, better wife.  What could be better than having a cheeseburger?  A bigger cheeseburger, of course.  The same principle applies to foxy wives.  She's growing at an astonishing rate and every millimeter added to her middle section makes her that much foxier.

nwb