Chester Festus

One week!

One week to Maus's due date, that is. Which means we could be waiting around until as late as Memorial Day, or we could be on the job tonight. Chester Festus (my father's in-utero nickname for his grandson-to-be) appears to be lined up and limbered up and on his mark, and now we just have to wait for the starter's pistol.

Everything is in readiness — as far as I can tell, anyway. Probably there are a million unturned stones that won't even present themselves until after the fact, but at least the steady and unrelenting influx of packages from Babies R Us is reassuring. With this much stuff, we must be ready for anything.

Except a girl, that is. Here's hoping that ultrasound guy knows his business.

We have a nice manly name chosen and are ready to use it. Unfortunately I'm still bound by Maus's gag order, and can't give any hints.

I'm pretty sure I wouldn't even be allowed to divulge that there are two hints hidden somewhere in this post. Or even three. I mean, if there were hints hidden in this post. Which of course I'm not allowed to reveal. Whether there are hints or not, that is. I'm not allowed to say. You didn't hear it from me, OK?