Hello there ladies and gentlemen!

In his true narcissistic namesake's fashion, Dorian Shane, arrived one week before schedule on July 13th, 2010 at 4:58pm. He weighed 6lbs. 12 oz. and measured in at 17 inches.

Mommy and Baby are doing fine, as are big brother Dante and proud daddy Randy.

1 + 1 = WHAT?!?!?!?

I keep forgetting there is an end result to this pregnancy. Not that I don't understand that there is a baby inside me, but I tend to forget the part where it is actually going to be coming out of me at some point. For example, my mother and I were talking about what I wanted to do for hubby's birthday (August 27th, mark your calendars), and I said, "maybe you can watch Dante and we can go out to dinner". She replied, "Sure I can watch the baby and Dante for a couple of hours."

And that's when I realized that there is GOING TO BE A BABY at some point. Actually, within the next two weeks there is going to be a baby.

Totally slipped my mind. I completely forgot that Casa Lane will be inhabited by four people instead of three.

The same thing happened to me the other day when I was considering getting Yo Gabba Gabba Live! tickets since it is one of the best kid shows out there. Here I am, nonchalantly picking out tickets at Ticketmaster and thinking to myself how fun the three of us will have dancing to such awesome tunes as "There's A Party in My Tummy" and "Don't Bite Your Friends" and "I Like Bugs".


Then, it dawned on me. I'd have a baby. A three month old, to be exact, which a loud screaming theater of dancing life-sized puppets is no place for. Plus, there's no way I could leave Mr. Bean (who will have a name by then) for many hours at a time if I am going to be exclusively nursing!

So...no Yo Gabba Gabba for me. And secretly, I'm the one who really wants to go the most.

How can I be so forgetful when I am reminded every day when I try to put shoes on, or put pants on, or get kicked in the ribs, or break a sweat rolling over in bed that there is an end result to this pregnancy.

Let's go over the simple math here:



PLUS



WILL EVENTUALLY EQUAL




.....which will, in turn, become some scary teenager with hair in places I don't want to think about, an attitude to match, and some bimbo hanging off his arm. And trust me, they will ALL be bimbos.













So I need to keep reminding myself that come July 21st (assuming Mr. Bean does not want to come early), I will have A BABY.

Someone please shoot me.