When Kid was wee, I would sit just outside his door and listen to him murmur and coo to himself, listen to the adorable little slurping noises that meant he was sucking on his foot, strain my ears to hear his contented little sighs. Now, halfway down the hall in my office, all I can hear at the moment (half an hour past bedtime) is KABLAMMY! TAKE COVER!! OH MY GOD HE GOT IT RIGHT IN THE GUTS!!! AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGHHHHHHH!
And I ask myself, not for the first time, why there isn't some kind of Y Chromosome detector on those pregnancy tests. Just so I could have prepared myself for motherhood by watching UFC, reading "Modern Warfare" and poring over the anatomy of the bowel.
"Darling, who are you shooting in there?" I just asked.
HUGE BIG SIGH AND THE SOUND OF EYES ROLLING
"I'm not shooting anyone, Laur. I'm PUNCHING A TOMB ROBBER RIGHT IN THE GUTS."
Oh well, at least he's on the side of archeological rectitude.