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?
Some families watch the Olympics from the comfort of their own homes, other families hold their own freaking Olympics while on vacation together.* Count the Clark’s in the latter camp, please, and give us a shiny gold medal-of-crazy while you’re at it. Just kidding, we’re not crazy. (We’re kind of crazy, but it’s in a lovable way…?)
If you saw my fiancee and I holding hands and walking through the park like we’re in love or something, you’d probably want to barf, and you might even expect Mr. Bluebird to land on her shoulder (after pooping on mine), but you’d never suspect that we just got done hating each other’s guts. Not when Caroline herself looks too innocent and fragile and beautiful to fill the air with the razor-sharp words of a woman on the verge of menstruation (bahahaha!).