I'm the germinator.

So the wife (lately known solely as 'The Incubator') calls me up after her doctor's appointment and lays this on me: she's in week 32 of the pregnancy, but she's measuring more than 35 weeks, and in 2 weeks we're going to have a little chit-chat with the doc about when we might be inducing what the ladies call "labor", which I've heard can result in the baby being born. Her words to me: "You'd better get your shit together!"

Looks like I quit the wrong week to quit sniffing glue.

Unborn Baby McGill is pushing close to 6 pounds already, and is "growing like a weed", according to the doctor. I say this is what we get for sending Julie to the same personal trainer that Alex Rodriguez uses, but what do I know.

I'm off to get my shit together...