Aching and sore, but triumphant

Tonight, my embyronic one, I went to the gym, for what is, I think, the first time in 15 years.

One of the things I decided about getting my life into the shape that I want it to be before you get here is that I need to be fit enough to at least try to keep up with you. Coupled with the fact that I have recently gone up a pant size for the first time since I was 14, I decided that a regimen of exercise may be in order.

Now you know that your uncle David is immensely fit, and so I thought that my best bet would be to accompany him to his chosen place of worship and, as he would say, smash out some reps.

I can safely say that I think I feel better. Sure, my arms and back ache, but I feel like I made progress. One of the things about going to the gym that I have discovered in my tiny exposure to it is that you actually feel like your muscles have grown. I'm looking forward, when you arrive, to looking like I'm young enough to be your dad.

I read a comic website called Penny Arcade, that you're too young to read. One of the guys who writes it had a baby just recently who, in the photo he posted, is wearing a "onesie" (gosh, pumpkin, that's an AWFUL word, I'm glad you're the one who has to wear it) that says "I Can't Read" on it.

Seeing this made me think about what we're going to dress you in when you arrive, and luckily the internet has once again proven that it can provide an answer to almost any question.

I'm sure that, as a child blessed with several great grandparents, about nineteen grandparents and more than a few interested hangers on, you will be regaled with no end of amusing tshirts

and onesies.


Dad out.