While the universe isn't raining gold coins and roses down upon us by any means, we've had some fairly blue skies here at Varmint Central.

As you can probably guess from the lack of a blog entry, the one thing we haven’t had yet is a baby.

On the other hand, that also means "we" haven't experienced labor - which from my perspective, isn't entirely bad news.

The Varmint might argue this point. He's growing impatient to see, snuggle and mark territory all over Darling Varmintling in the flesh - as opposed to through mine.

But he'll just have to wait until the crosshairs of harmonic convergence align directly over my uterus. Until then, he can just keep licking his paws and grooming himself.

"C'mon now," I say to The Varmint, "she's a week late. That's a mere blip for you. I've waited longer for you to get ready to go to the movies."

He furrows his furry brow and sticks his little pink tongue out at me, but doesn't argue, because he knows it's true.It’s also beautifully ironic that he’s having to sit around and wait for someone to hurry up and get here.

See, The Varmint's other nicknames include "Lag" and "Molasses" (neither of which were given to him by me, I feel compelled to point out). While he steadfastly refuses to admit it - to the point where his scruff tends to go up if it's mentioned - he is rather well-known for taking his own sweet-ass time about getting anywhere.

His penchant for tardiness isn’t intentional. The Varmint’s methodical and responsible, but also easily distracted. (As in: “Ooooooh! iTunes!”) As soon as he’s absorbed doing something he’s interested in, he then loses time. I’ve found him in his shower towel, dripping on the floor, mouth agape as he watches a movie (usually dealing with dragons, swords or surfing) that he wasn’t aware he’d gotten sucked into 20 minutes previous.

ThWaitingWaiting.jpgere isn’t a lot in this universe that can compel a Varmint to rush, either, and that certainly includes yours truly. I’ve come a long way in the acceptance department… Okay, no, that’s a lie… I work really hard at keeping my mouth shut and not nagging him – which is the first step toward acceptance.

I have managed to develop a couple of tactical approaches that are semi-effective (giving him countdown-to-departure warnings, putting a key / sunglasses / cell phone basket by the door, for example), but you know, short of Tasering him and throwing him in the trunk of the car, he is who he is.

And I’ll be the first to admit that most of the time, our being a few minutes late doesn’t matter too much - and is far worth the price of being labeled a co-slowpoke in exchange for a purring, contented, ungrouchy furrball riding shotgun to me for the rest of the day.

Now, however, a week overdue and her arrival nowhere in sight, it looks like baby girl may already have inherited something from daddy: The "Punctuality? Meh" Gene.

And that, my friends, could change everything. With two of them in the house, that might prove most problematic. While it’s often best not to fight these things – I do intend to nurture an alternative nature in that department.

And if I fail, and daddy’s reorganizing his iTunes by date while baby girl decides to change her outfit for the 407th time as I sit in the car, honking the horn – I do have a very special backup plan that should solve all of our woes to everyone’s satisfaction.

It involves buying a sexy little two-seater convertible, stocking it to the rafters with chocolate and Aretha Franklin MP3s, and flaunting a custom license plate frame that reads: BETTER THAN XANAX.

Meanwhile, The Varmint and the wee one can cruise the cracker-coated, juice-stained family truckster to Tardysville while blasting Elmo Does Nashville at their leisure.

Hey. Works for me.


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I am a writer and lazy artist who loves travel, architecture and design. Right now, I'm into photography. My fabulous husband (a.k.a. The Varmint) and I are also the principals of a San Diego-based creative agency - and new parents to the divine Baby Mak. Read More >