Dear, Abram:
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.
The more I think about stuff, the more important it is for me to get my way about it. But especially with my sister’s baby-naming process.
As mentioned in my previous My Sister’s Pregnant blog, which sort of went viral with its impregnated self, my proposal to insert my name into the “Middle” slot of the birth certificate has been psychotically submitted, with the words “DO THIS (if you know what’s good for your baby’s future)!” on the cover page and lots of footnotes in the shape of actual baby feet. Too aggressive, or just right?
Oh, here’s someone’s TV (not claiming it). Just look at that technology, would you? It’s gotta be at least 32 inches, right? (That’s what she said. Not my sister. Some hot girl who calls herself your mom, I think.) And the convex screen really enhances the picture in ways you can’t even imagine because it’s hard to remember what things were like back in 1998. I also like the wide-body style, much better than those flat screens that barely give you any machinery for your money.
1. No nighttime bowel movements/toilet usage. This isn’t a problem from me, but Jason, that Daddy-looking guy with the Chia Pet on his face, is much less inclined to break anywhere the wind takes him (usually to work), and he struggles to adhere to your mommy’s half-kidding restriction at times. In fact, he has a tendency to disappear and not tell Mommy or me where he’s going, and I bet he’ll do the same with you, too. It’s not personal; it’s business. Baby, you’ll have a much more difficult time keeping things under cover (and out of your diaper), but your evenings dumps are to be expected, so enjoy them while you can!
Dude, guess who got invited to his pregnant sister’s ultrasound appointment? Me! I accepted. (Do you think it was a courtesy invite?) Walking into the doctor’s office with the future parents, from here on out we’ll call them “Amy” and “Jason,” I, “Jay,” the brother with the same middle name as their future first-born, felt a little bit awkward. Can you imagine?