Saturday, February 18, 2012


The nerves have settled, mostly.  I've been busting ass at the shop to earn money to pay for all the shit that Jackson/Susanne will require.  Yeah, we've already named this little accidental miracle.

She got a new application for her Nook called Baby Bump or some such fucking thing.  A daily tracker for pregnant women.  Some dad stuff too.  I know this, little child is supposed to be the size of a (insert random fruit or seed).  Truth is, I'm not paying attention right now.  I've been throwing tools across the shop in unbridled anger the past couple of days.  Stress, I thinks.  Tomorrow I predict vindictive rage and melted wrenchs on the pavement.

We're signed up for couples classes to strengthen our relationship and bond pre-baby.  She gets her first ultra-sound mid-March.  Our constantly in-flux marriage date has been moved up because she makes too much money to get SoonerCare to pay for the delivery, so she will be going on my insurance.  Navigating the shark infested waters that is the corporation should be fun.

I still havn't told me parents, nor talked to them.  She, however, told my mother so that she could figure out a way for me to tell my father without him sending me a congratultory mail bomb via USPS.  For a person who has told the both of them to thier face, "I don't give a fuck what you to fucking think," I'm scared shitless about what they'll think.  Let alone the rest of my family.  Don't throw the open can of beans Minty, please.

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