I need to vent a smidge. A yiddle bit. A pinch of bitch, a touch of wah wah.

Every frickin’ time I see someone I haven’t seen in 5 minutes, I get asked about the twins. Every time I walk into a room and I’m without the wifeballoon, I get the same frickin’ reaction: “Aaaaaayyyy! How’s Jules?”

Ya’ know what? Jules is miserably happy right now. Her contractions are scaring the shit out of us, she pops and cracks whenever she stands up, she can’t sleep comfortably, she can’t help out around the house so she has this impending feeling of guilt like I actually give a shit that she can’t assist like she used to, she gets full really fast now, yet she’s hungry again in a few minutes, she’s emotional, she’s indecisive, she’s worried.

But I’ll be damned if we aren’t excited as shitdamnfuckbitch about having two kids in a few months. The twins themselves don’t scare us, if you have twins already and think I should be scared I don’t care to talk to you right now, let them come first. What scares us is all this damn preparation and annoying human interaction. And let’s not forget the fucking worrying.

She’s worried about me finishing the things I’ve said I will finish well before the supreme architect decides to force two kids out her pee hole. Her worrying bugs the absolute shit out of me because it is yet another thing that adds to her stress level and for fucks sake, my job right now is to lessen these stressors. Yet she, like every other female creature on the planet, assumes that without women, men couldn’t even perform the simplest of duties.

“Did you flush?” ‘Yes dear.’

“Did you change him?” ‘Yes dear.’

You know what I’d LIKE to say?

“Did I flush? SHIT NO! We’re on a budget, water reclamation is all over my ass about that 45 dollar quarterly bill babe, no more single excrement flushes.”

“Did I change him? SHIT NO! We’re not made of diapers! We switched to Luvs to save 5 dollars every week, not to just change every diaper that you can’t feel is damp or brown from the inside out!”

Phew, just writing out my sarcasm is soothing my tortured, awesome sperm having soul.

If you’re reading this honey, I will get the new bedroom moved out of, spackled, painted and set up long before your vag opens like the frickin’ Red Sea. Just please, shut up about it.

I would like a beverage right about now…

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