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.