Mrs. P pumped out another boy a couple of weeks ago. Atta-girl!
You can see here that the Fletchmonster isn't a big fan of that 'new baby smell.'
Yeah... everything's rosey here, as the Sarge gets acquainted with his brothers. He came out of the chute at 7 lbs. 15 oz., though I'm not sure why anybody cares. I might care if I was a woman, though, and had to push out something that sizeable out of my cooch. Goddamn.
I always have to remember not to look down after the baby comes out. For those gentlemen who've never had the pleasure... What do you get when you cross your wife's 'chocha' with a Jackson Pollock painting?
All kidding aside, I'm proud of the Mrs.
That looks painful as f*ck to go through, and she's gone through it willingly three times. Of course, she comes from Irish stock... All they need to birth is some Bailey's, a pot of warm water, tree bark, a rope and a couple of dishrags (á la Christy Brown's mother), though Mrs. P's a bit Americanized so they had to throw in an epidural.
Well, then, I'm off to go play hockey tonight... and to have a toast to the O-Dog, the Fletchmonster and the Sarge.... to the advent of the daddy stitch....
and to Jackson Pollock.