Sometimes when I don’t write for a while I’ll muse long about just posting an oldie, bargaining back a musty thing and pretending it’s new. There’s a fair number of things from the past that I’d just as soon throw up here for old times sake, some of them are not so awful bad even to me.
Seems precious close to plagiarism in a way. Or waning for the numbers.
Why would I do something so silly, when newness beams fresh ever so?
No, there’s little to nothing so far as updates on the subject of grandchildren.
Meaning that the Middlest One daughter has Yet to Pop. Tomorrow’s the pop date.
And it’s a testament to her O’foxed toughness, I suppose, that she has neither taken a day of bedrest nor deviated one bit from her routine. Which includes frequently walking a hyperactive Boxer and driving over here (with Boxer) for dinner on a nightly basis. I’m starting to wonder if she plans on birthing this child by herself, with the dog as a mid-wife, and just showing up for supper one night with a wriggling bundle slung to her bosom. Maggie is practical to a fault, and nonchalant to the very tee.
I give her ‘til the end of the week. She’ll pop. My wife cannot reasonably stand much more of this waiting. Although the Boxer, by all accounts, is having a wonderful time.
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