There’s Spinach in My Pants.

I may be letting a bit of a secret out by admitting this, but… I’m not really just like I am in this diary versus Real Life. I write in here with stories and opinions that paint a certain picture, build a persona of someone that isn’t quite like me.

When the time comes for your beloved Wife to undergo painful and serious abdominal surgery in order to bring forth your child, you take it VERY seriously. So be warned, these pictures are NOT meant to be funny.

30 CCs of something medical sounding, STAT!

I lied about being in IT, I actually AM a doctor. I had just finished my rounds when Wife was wheeled into the PreGettingBabyCutOuttaYou Area.

And by “rounds”, I mean “can you believe they didn’t even kick me out or ask me to knock it off?”

Some SERIOUS Awwwwww

I found out that you don’t need tits to make the sounds coming out of her head stop.

I can’t be positive, but I think she looks like me.

I’m also not completely certain, but I may actually be completely, 100 percent, absolutely, wholly and truly, lamblastedly, shaznasterly, SMITTEN with my child.

Mummy captured her First Car Ride

We got to take her home on Australia Day and I think I managed to convinced her that the fireworks and barbecues were all in her honour. She’s obviously not impressed, but that may be because Mother Nature tried to cook her. She does this though, this sleeping thing, where she sleeps all the time. Sleepy. Sleepery.

I’ve dumped more than a few extremely personal and private things here in this diary, but because of certain circumstances and by the very nature of what has become Web 2.0, it’s not quite for that anymore. I come here to keep in touch with those of you that can’t be bothered changing bookmarks or buddy lists and all that shit.

For those that care and haven’t been there yet, there are more pictures and baby awesomeness and love and everything that’s wonderfully goo about the World over in my other diary. Email me If that doesn’t work, then leave a comment in here with your email addy. If that doesn’t work, then join up on the Notify Thingy, get a Notify email from me which has my current email on it, and then cancel the Notify thingy and stalk me long enough for me to get you to put random groceries in my fridge. Crap, you can go to the GuestBook too, I think, that’ll get me your email without giving it to the spammers, which is exactly why I don’t put it on here. Thanks.

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