and 2.
Happy Giving of Thanks
Currently babies = life, and I don't see that changing for a couple decades. But despite the loss of all things autonomous, I've enjoyed the dickens out of fatherhood. I'm really surprised by this because I remember dragging my feet when it came to shopping and filling our house with baby goods. All I knew is that I didn't want to suffer the fate of all the other unsuspecting parents who end up with the living room looking like a Fisher-Price garage sale. But after having the youngsters for several months, I've grown ok with it. Nay, I enjoy it. Anything that makes them happy, makes me happy. It's like having kids make you skip from cool mr.never-act-a-fool to sentimental mr.cheesy-parental. (Did you like that rhymery? It took me way too long to come up with.)
I swear every stupid little thing they do, excluding emesis and excrement, melts my innards. I hardly even call them by their real names. Instead they've become every derivative of wittle punkins or muff'ns. But seriously, can you think of words more fitting? I cannot.