About time, Bad Father!

Well, I made myself pack tonight, being how I've been procrastinating about packing for the hospital stay. My wife will be in her hospital gown the whole time, leaving me to be the fashion ambassodor during our visit. So far, I've got the CD player, which weighs about a hog, and a few CDs with soothing-I'm-not-pushing-a-Buick-out-my-hoochie music and I've got my camcorder and camera. Well, the camera still needs to be packed, but I'm leaving it out in case I need to take other pictures, like of Alex or my butt.

I packed my "Official Father" shirt, which is black, and my only pair of functional jeans, which is also black, so I suppose that's not real colorful of me. I have also packed the sweatshirt in the middle of summer because now I know, the stupid daddy beds at the hospital room is right under the air conditioning, and it blows right down on the daddies as if to keep their misery in perspective.

Actually, I just remembered a bunch of stuff. Quarters, for the vending machine, food, for myself, because Mommy gets catered meals, and Daddies get stuck with frozen burritos and what looks to be a waffle but turns out to be a frozen egg after you microwave it. Scary, scary food. And I also forgot to get the list of names and numbers I'll need to call once the baby is born. Nobody likes to be left out of the big news, so I gotta compile that list.

12 more days. Oh my. Little Zoe.