Womb Whisperer

Wow, that blog title didn't seem half that creepy when I initially typed it. It was meant to be a play on The Dog Whisperer, which I assume is a play on the Robert Redford movie The Horse Whisperer, which is probably a play on something of greater socio-cultural significance that I am ignorant of. Either way, I just meant to imply that everytime I touch the wife's stomach to feel the boy practicing for World Cup 2028 (fingers crossed) he seems to instantly sense my presence and tranquility takes over her tummy. I'm like the anti-Fonz of pre-natal activity. I touch the jukebox and the music instantly stops.

I figured I could take this one of two ways. Either they boy has already learned to feel a crippling sense of fear everytime his father is near, and thus his legacy as a mutli-talented music megastar is nearly written in stone, or maybe my voice and touch are so soothing that I induce narcolepsy in the boy. I'm really hoping it's the latter, but at the same time it would be cool to see what life in one of those awesome RV's that all the rockstars travel in would be like, except you can't poop in them.

And don't feel too bad for me, he still kicks now and then for me too. So much so that sometimes you can actually see the wife's shirt move from across the room. World Cup 2028 I tell you!