Bouncing New Baby_____

My newest arrival, flanked by brothers T-Bone and Pug

Congratulations are in order! I just gave birth to another 57-year-old beach bum. Right now he’s knocking back a mug of suds at the Salty Dog in Daytona Beach. Next on his agenda: taking a leak, checking out the t-shirts in the gift shop, then stumbling into the street. I’m so proud!

Even though “Doug” is his given name, I’ve already taken to calling him “Big D.” He joins brothers Mac, Norm, Slide, J.J., Nick, T-Bone, Siddy, and Pug.

Didn’t know I was pregnant? Well, it’s true I wasn’t showing. Not in the conventional sense, anyway. Big D, like his siblings, came into the world in a poof of stress I generated. Specifically, he arrived to offset it. You see, every time I get in a serious bind—multiple work deadlines, seventeen days without childcare, traveling husband, stacks of unsorted mail, crying kids, no clean underwear—the Universe creates an equal and opposite reaction. You know, to balance things out.  My water broke this morning when I accidentally cut up my husband’s perfectly good ATM card, thinking it was my de-magnetized ATM card. They look exactly alike except for the photos. He handed me his card as he departed for a trip on Sunday so I could buy groceries and gas until my new card arrives.

The moment I realized my mistake, the contractions started hard and fast. During the delivery, Doug’s toe snagged on some seaweed. He tripped a little, but only blew out one flip flop. Next, he wiped his nose on his wife-beater, caught some Z’s under the pier, and bummed a cigarette off some teenagers. With that, he was born, weighing 193 pounds and measuring 5′-8″. My labor was intense but short. You know what they say about the body surrendering after a few (dozen) children.

Please, no gifts. But if you insist, I’m registered at The Guy Who Sells Weed Out of His Kia.