My understanding is that you still lack sensory organs, so let me fill you in. Our honeymoon has vastly improved. We've changed islands and hotels so that your mom has a completely new place to throw up. It's so gorgeous here she doesn't even seem to mind. Finally, there are rows of loungers pointed at the sunset and they're willing to put a tiny umbrella in anything that comes in a glass. Sadly, no feather people, but I'm willing to give on that one.
Really, there's only one thing missing. Now, the minute you develop a brain (I'm told that's some ways off) the idea of physical intimacy between your parents is going to make you wish it came with an off switch. All I can say is, tough. This is my honeymoon. You're the one who decided to tag along. And really that's the problem. I don't want to say it's all your fault, but it is and the sooner you learn to be accountable for your actions the better.
Under any circumstances your mom is very attractive, but post wedding and despite a week of solid vomiting, when she's not hunched over a toilet she looks pretty damned incredible. She tells me that you're smaller than a watch battery at this point, but when I look at her I still keep seeing... a pregnant lady. Also, the vomiting isn't doing much for me.
She's pointed out that if I don't get over this we're going to be in for a long nine months. And in between sunsets and hurling we've managed to banish these thoughts for sufficient periods of time, but I admit to being worried about what happens when you're closer to the size of a battery for a car than one for a watch. Until then I'm going to point myself towards more glasses with umbrellas and try to ignore that you've come along. Something tells me I should probably be making the most of this time. It might be hard to forget you while you're in there, but it's going to be impossible once you're out.
Really, there's only one thing missing. Now, the minute you develop a brain (I'm told that's some ways off) the idea of physical intimacy between your parents is going to make you wish it came with an off switch. All I can say is, tough. This is my honeymoon. You're the one who decided to tag along. And really that's the problem. I don't want to say it's all your fault, but it is and the sooner you learn to be accountable for your actions the better.
Under any circumstances your mom is very attractive, but post wedding and despite a week of solid vomiting, when she's not hunched over a toilet she looks pretty damned incredible. She tells me that you're smaller than a watch battery at this point, but when I look at her I still keep seeing... a pregnant lady. Also, the vomiting isn't doing much for me.
She's pointed out that if I don't get over this we're going to be in for a long nine months. And in between sunsets and hurling we've managed to banish these thoughts for sufficient periods of time, but I admit to being worried about what happens when you're closer to the size of a battery for a car than one for a watch. Until then I'm going to point myself towards more glasses with umbrellas and try to ignore that you've come along. Something tells me I should probably be making the most of this time. It might be hard to forget you while you're in there, but it's going to be impossible once you're out.
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