It's June 21, and we're hopefully still a little over two weeks from the arrival of Hecate and Kali (The Wife will be plenty doped up when it's time to sign the birth certificates). There was a bit of worry earlier this month when the doctor said the fluid levels had dropped, but a week of forced couch rest and plenty of water and we're back on track.
I haven't been writing as much as I'd normally like, for what I hope are obvious reasons (I did find time to make some completely pulled-out-of-my-ass box office predictions about the rest of the summer blockbusters at Hair Balls). In a perfect world, there would've been a Worst Movie Dads entry on Friday, but it completely slipped my mind. The short list included Jack Torrance, Dad Meiks (Frailty), and Bill Maplewood (Happiness). Those are pretty standard choices, however, so I'd probably have to throw in Daniel Hillard (Mrs. Doubtfire), because lifelong trauma caused by a cross-dressing father has to count for something.
I'm sure my kids will attest to that in a few years.
Given The Wife's delicate condition, Father's Day here is a little subdued. She got tickets for m and her dad to go the Pirates-Astros game a couple weeks back, and she let me sleep in, even though "breakfast at Frank's" became "Mommy's going back to sleep for a couple hours." She still needs to stay off her feet, so we'll be continuing the summer weekend tradition of Dad taking She Who Shall Not Be Named to the pool for a couple hours, then meeting up with the Father-In-Law for dinner. Would I like to sit on my ass, watching baseball/Deadliest Catch marathons and drinking beer all day? Hell yes, but it's obvious that the best gift I can get at this point is two healthy, full-tern daughters (a magic wand to cure SWSNBN most likely isn't in the cards).
That doesn't mean I'm not going to slip the wedding band off when I take SWSNBN to the grocery store later and try to score some sympathy digits. Certain things are expected of me, after all.
Happy Father's Day, everyone. And Dad, when I call you later, please try to refrain from gloating about the goddamn weather in Maine. I promise to return the favor in January.
Happy Father’s Day, Pete!