Gadhra dot Com

Dear Reader,

How have you been? Good, good. Seen any really great movies lately? Or … books, or something?

OK, I lied. I don’t give a shit about any movies you’ve seen. I have something much more important to tell you. Are you sitting down? If not – you read on your computer while standing? That’s kind of weird.

We’re totally having a boy.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “How was the outcome of this even in doubt? Someone who is 110% man like yourself can’t HOPE but to send your Y chromosome rocketing through the DNA strands of your future child! I mean – the Y should stand for ‘Y would you even think I’m going to be a girl?’”

I know, I know.
I totally agree with you

But the fact of the matter is that you never know in these circumstances. It’s completely possible that my arch-nemesis, wherever he or she might be, attempted to thwart my plans of universal domination by modifying the chromosomes of my unborn child in an attempt to have my wife give birth to a child of a sex I didn’t want, thus sending me into a downward spiral of drinking and death.

But I thwarted him (or her), you see, because I didn’t give a SHIT about what the sex is going to be.

There is an entire UNIVERSE of things to worry about, and I confess that gender is somewhere around position 100 billion in my panoply of concerns, right next to “what if she/he doesn’t have a properly formed pinkie fingernail” and “what if she/he wants to go on Spring Break when they’re 15″ (answer: no. That’s an easy one). And don’t worry – I’m not just a professional worrier. I totally helped. While my wife was being prodded with the wand, I made the following contributions:

Me, to my wife: “I don’t want to alarm you, but there’s something alive in there”

Me, to my wife and the doctor: “20! Yup! Sorry – there are 20 fingers and toes total. 10 of each. So … put that in the computer, or something.”

Me, to myself, after receiving a picture of my son’s pee-pee: “I am 100% keeping this to show to your prom date”

So, to any and all concerned – it definitely looks like a baby in there. I also understand he now responds to sounds, so I’ve been shouting encouragement at him every day, which makes for awkward scenes as I scream “You can do it! You’re THE BEST!” into my wife’s stomach at the super market. People stare, but I tell them they should be offering sacrifices to their new lord and master, and that usually gets them moving. I just don’t understand why we have to get cops involved every time, but whatever.

At any rate – more updates as they come! And begin preparing the palinquin for the birth of your new Lord: “Facekick” (name pending spousal buy-in).

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So, first things first. 2009 is going to be awesome. Why? Because that will be the year that my wife gives birth to whatever world conqueror is the result of my potent seeds.

That’s right, you sons-of-bitches. My wife is pregnant. And before you snickeringly ask if it’s mine, I will save you the time – of course it is. I’m so much man that I could probably just look at a girl and get her pregnant, though I don’t do that for obvious reasons. Taxes, for example.

2009 will also be awesome for many other reasons. Reasons that are awesome. But the most awesome thing, of course, will be the awe-inspiring birth of my child, who will be named something totally awesome like Tiberius or Xaos or Peter or something. I haven’t thought that far ahead. If it’s a girl, she will not be named Candi (no offense, Candi. I think you dance beautifully). Or … almost anything ending in “i”, I guess. Bambi. Stabbi. Nothing like that.

At any rate, A-dawg is currently 16 weeks pregnant, as of this coming Wednesday. About a month ago we went for the first ultrasound, which was pretty freaky – to wit, I was sitting with my wife looking at the monitor where they project the baby picture with science, and there was blackness and then, all of a sudden, bam! There’s a baby, just like in health class. And I exclaimed “Holy shit! It’s a baby!” and hugged my wife’s head. And then the picture moved over the fucking heart, which flickered on the screen, and then a voice whispered in my head “dude. I think that thing is ALIVE!” and my old life downed a fifth of Jack Daniels, boarded a ship bound for Tomorrowland, and sailed away, never to return. I saw him standing on the crow’s nest, swaying drunkenly, and he didn’t even look back. Heavy.

Last week we went and heard the heartbeat, which was loud and strong, much as you would imagine the heartbeat of a champion thoroughbred like myself would sound. I can’t believe this kid hasn’t busted out of the womb already, charging like mad through the streets, making women swoon and men run in fear (or vice-versa if she’s a girl. Or not – I’m not biased. Fuck it. As long as someone swoons and someone runs in fear). But my wife assures me he or she must bake a little longer. Whatever.

Obviously, that pretty much will eclipse everything else that happens in 2009 (sorry, Obama). But consider yourselves warned. And have a great new year!

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