J.J. Goodman: Writings, Musings and More

Three months, a week, and a wake-up. One hundred days.   One. Hundred. Days.   Dear holy poop on a Pringle, I'm going to be a father in one hundred days.   (Poop on a… *shakes head*)   What? It's kind of like crap on a cracker, only worse. Because Pringles aren't quite as hardy as crackers.   (How many cups of coffee have you had this morning?)   *gives stink eye* Anywhoos…. Okay, I fully understand that the countdown isn't exact. She could take after her mother and be a little late, or take after her father and be a little early. The fact remains that there are only one hundred days remaining until my daughter's due date, and I'm freakin' right the f*ck out. A little. A smidge. A skosh, if you will. I'm keeping it together, really.   *twitch*   (Alright, bucko, take a deep breath.)   Easy for you to say.   And I'm sure you realize that for the purposes of humor I tend to exagge

You know what? I think I'm getting to be okay with all of this. I don't feel stressed, or I at least don't feel as stressed as I had before. I've researched baby furniture, we've mailed invitations for the baby shower, and we've even started cleaning out the spare room so I can start working on the nursery. I got this.   Ultrasound technician: It's a girl!   *blink blink*   I…   *twitch*   Annnnnd thus goes out the window any sense of having my shit together. I mean… we're having a girl.   (OMG Stahhhhp. Girls are great!)   I know, but… it's a girl.   I'm gonna be a dad to a baby girl.   A. GIRL .   (Caps and italics? Alright, simmer down there, sport.)   Look, don't get me wrong. I am ecstatically overjoyed. My gut feeling since we saw two bars on the pee stick was that we were going to have a girl. I should have been preparing for this all along. But…