Dear #%!# Mini B.
Is it because I didn’t write prenatal blogs about you like I did with your brother?
Is it because I threw caution to the wind this time and ate ham and drank coffee and soda and an occasional (late-term) beer with reckless abandon?
Is it because every kick, punch and cervix bounce over these last nine months didn’t earn you praise, recognition and squeals of WTF-induced excitement?
Is it because your room isn’t totally finished? Or that I can’t just say yes to the name?
WHAT’S THE DEAL, DUDE?! Continue reading