Interlude: A Message From The Womb

Hello Everyone, this is the youngest Russell speaking.

That's right. It's me. Straight from the Womb. Mom's always posting blogs on here about me, so I thought it was about time I cleared up a few things.

First of all, this whole "voting for my sex" thing is sick and wrong. It's liable to give me a complex. I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm a (cough), excuse me, but all of your debating is making me start to think it's not so obvious. I'm what, like 18 weeks old? Sheesh. As if the birthing process weren't traumatic enough. Besides, if you want a real debate, go to Mullet.com. Or any Fabio fansite. Or ask Chelsea about Monica. There's a REAL debate for ya. Boy or Girl?
Boy or Girl?

Boy or...What? It's A Legitimate Question...

Sure, you're all excited that Mom can feel me moving, but in a few months, she's going to be complaining about it. You know what? Tough. I'm the one squished in here like a Sumo Wrestler in a baby diaper. You thought there wasn't leg room on an American Airlines flight? Try riding shotgun in this Mama. I'm not sure what all the excitement's about, anyway. I've felt her moving since day one. Heck, I'm sitting right next to her intestines. I can guess what she had for lunch just from the gurgling (yesterday was Mac n' Cheese.)



Here's the thing: I feel a little cheated. You know, that first baby, he's a big deal. Me? I'm like that last piece of popcorn you find when you get up from the couch after watching a movie. Sure, you get momentarily excited, you eat it, but still: you don't tell your friends about it the next day. And if you do, your friends look at you a little funny. I'm telling you, it's just not fair.

So shape up people. I may not have a name yet, but that doesn't mean you can just talk about me like I'm not here. I'm watching. And one last thing: My Dad is the man. Numero Uno. World Class. Top of the Line. Prime Time. One of a kind. (What can I say? He controls my allowance.)