The days are slow, hobbling along like a three-legged dog with lupus. Everything is happening, but nothing is happening at the same time; a peculiar contradiction. These are strange times, that's for sure. It's four (4) days out from the due date for Little Miss and I feel no fear or trepidation, only an all consuming anxiety deep in my marrow.
Charlie's room is decked out: lock, stock, the fucking lot. There is a sickening amount of pink and most of the furniture came with obscure instructions, or none at all.
Hopefully the next time I have something to gibber on about I'll be a Daddy. I've never been a patient man and I don't think I ever will be.
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