Age: Almost 2 months.
Height: Really long.
Weight: Still light enough to carry without having to make a big show about him not being heavy when he really is.
There are two types of high-school graduates: Type A) The high-school peaker. Type B) The high-school victim. These two groups share at least one major thing in common: They’re both crazy. Certifiable. Insane in the membrane and out. And there’s something else: In your own way, you’re destined to be an alma-mater member of each. Unless you read the rest of this post, then there might be hope. But no promises.
You have a perfect face. Can you believe it? There’s finally two of us! (Confession: I was relieved that you didn’t emerge resembling a wrinkly old Benjamin Button, but I would’ve put on my game face and said how cute you were, regardless.) Not that it’s about me or anything, but your birth a week ago was one of the most intense experiences of my life. And I’m just your weird uncle. I can’t imagine how much your parents must’ve been falling in love with you at first sight.
I recently bought a new home. Probably a bad decision. Now, instead of saying things like, “I really want a Golden Retriever puppy,” in front of people more responsible than me, I have to be all, “I should really put that brushed-nickel toilet paper roll on.” I mean, I never felt like doing anything around anyone else’s house, so why would I feel the sudden urge to have my own house to not do stuff in? I’ll never figure myself out, but before I file for Chapter 18 Bankruptcy (the fake one where the buyer is too lazy to mail their mortgage check), allow me to share with you a few tried-and-true tips for finding your very own money pit.