[waving, fake smiling, waving some more, reaching to shake Page’s hand, asking her if I “can call her Joe?” waving some more, sitting down at the computer]

OK, so I’m guest blogging. Happy to be here.

First let me say how floored I still am that I’m about to be a Dad. Holy crap. Six months ago, while crowing along with them in the car, I was innocently debating things like who would win in a song-off, JoJo or Kelly Clarkson (and by six months ago I mean this morning), and now I’m following up blog posts about babymoons and sonogramed double-chins. When did all of this happen?

Well, actually, I know exactly when all of this went down. It was indeed about six months ago, the lights were low, Shai was bumpin’ on the alarm clock radio, and Page and I were…well…ooooooh, dada, do, da do…ooooooh…ahem.

Holy crap.

I say that a lot these days. Thankfully Page knows that it isn’t in a “holy crap I clicked reply-all on that email where I referred to my intern as ‘a poor-man’s Dwight'” regretful kind of way, it’s more in a, “do I need to start wearing pleated pants now” way. In case I’m veiling my excitement a little too much here, let me make it clear – I couldn’t be more thrilled about having a baby.

Wait, no, that’s wrong too. I can’t wait to have “IT.” Yup, as I think Page has outlined here, we’re waiting to find out about the sex. While the irony of that statement out of context makes me smirk, the idea that what’s popping out in about three months is going to be a “surprise” and the fact that I have to call it an “it” in the meantime is driving me insane. Girl or boy, I want to paint the room. Dude or chick, I want roam the Target toy aisles. Pimp or princess, well you get the point. (and yes, I realize there might be a better girl-term to correlate with “pimp” but not even here, in a guest blog, do I ever want to imagine my girl spinning milkshakes and bringing boys to the yard)

What else…I kind of like this stream of consciousness blog thing by the way…um, so I felt the little Flinglette thump the other day. Wild. Page talks all the time about how the little guy/gal loves Qdoba, loves Dairy Queen, loves sales at Bloomingdales (wait, what?), and how it flips around with boundless joy. Well, I had never seen or felt proof until the other day. On about the 147th time Page grabbed my hand and slapped it on her stomach, I felt it. Unexplainable. There is a living thing in there, and it’s having a party. It’s tossing kidneys and intestines around. I couldn’t believe it…or fathom the idea that this wasn’t giving her stomach issues (yet…knock on wood). I have Qdoba and I’m in the bathroom for a week. And yet I diarrhea…I mean digress.

So yeah, we’re almost into month six and we’ve gotten our hands around the fact that we’re having a baby, even though I’m now close to not being able to fully get my hands around Page. Literally. Oh come on ladies, Page is cool with me joking about the weight gain!  Sorry, Pagina…and yes I will eat a disciplinary Frosty with you tonight.

Before I wedge myself into the doghouse any further, let me sign off. This was fun. I appreciate you letting me guest blog, even though I have no idea who is reading this or why I even feel the need to thank someone for it. I guess the real thanks should go to my wife who invited me to ride shotgun today. Page, you are the most beautiful pregnant woman I have ever seen…and I am basing this solely on your slickly-designed blog banner above. You are going to look HOT at nine months!!!

Adios!