After MASH
The above title is a reference only available to my readers over 25. Anyone who thought a TV show could get carried by Harry Morgan, William Christopher, and Jamie Farr must have been smoking an early shipment of CIA crack in L.A. But that's not the point here.
My weepy period is over. The loony corners of the Internet can go ahead and call my wife and I Mr. and Mrs. Mengele. It's not like we keep our son chained in the basement and feed him dog food. At least not at the same time. That would be cruel.
The irony is that Elijah has been a delight since he got bounced nursery school. Sleeping until eight, affectionate, responsive, and hilarious. Let me relay this bit of dialogue to you. I went to get him out of bed yesterday morning. The first thing he said to me was:
"Daddy, you have a big peenie!"
"Yes I do, son."
"I have a little peenie."
"That's right."
"Mommy has breasts!"
"Yes."
"You have two nipples!"
"Yes."
"I have three nipples!"
"You do?"
"NO! I no have three nipples!"
"OK."
"I take my peenie to Sea World?"
"Yes son," I said. "You can take your peenie to Sea World."
No more childhood writing. I have a Phoenix Suns funeral to attend tonight.