Blog(ger) PTSD

I'm not real sure whether it's the blog or me that's suffering the most after the past couple of weeks as a series of unfortunate and rather traumatic events have unfolded here in the phish bowl.

As many of y'all know the missus is with child and due to give birth in about six weeks, everythings as normal as possible with her so don't worry about that. Now the preparations for Junior's arrival have taken on precedence as the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel is drawing nearer, both figuratively and literally. The wife's honey-do list as now become a list of demands and she's now barking orders out at a decibel and with a ferocity that would make General George Patton seem like a wee little schoolgirl. It's a tad bit disconcerting to say the least.

Now as y'all can imagine I like to take things at my own pace (as long as the missus isn't looking I'm the boss around here damn it!!!!) and this has lead to a couple of "misunderstandings" as to the time frame in which she'd like things done. You'll notice I say she, because my opinion apparently no longer matters. Really she wouldn't be in this mess "with child" if it weren't for me so shouldn't I have a say in some of the decisions? Sure she could have found some other drunken hobo to sire her child, but then he wouldn't have my charm, good looks, sense of humor and humility. Of course, I've recently been informed that when she wants my opinion she'll give it to me.

The largest part of these plans of course involved getting the nursery ready. Now three weeks ago we didn't have a nursery. I had an office / blog room, but we didn't have a nursery. I had a domicile of sanity and a place hide from the women that have overrun my home, but we didn't have a nursery. I had a room that laden with testosterone and free of Estrogen, but we didn't have a nursery. Now we do.

My "crap" has been cleaned out, the carpet shampooed, the walls painted and we're office to the races. The custom desk I'd built has been removed and replaced with a crib. The entertainment center removed and replaced with a changing table. Light blues, greens are the colors and ducks now adorn the walls where pictures of the Hatteras and Ocracoke Lighthouses and maps of North Carolina's Ghost Fleet and Outer Banks were once proudly on display.

As a side affect from these traumatic actions is the normal level of suckitude on display here has suffered. Anyhoo, I too have seen the light at the end of the tunnel, a majority of the pressing matters have been addressed and the regular levels of dysfunction should return any day now. If that doesn't work there's more beer.

One thing this exercise did help with is the realization that for at least the next eighteen years everything I say and ninety percent of what I'll do from hereafter will be wrong; thus I'll sit back, relax, drink beer and laugh as the remainder of my sanity slips out of grasp. It is of course all very well worth it.

Update: Now with a picture that explains everything!!!