I am a Huge Unknown

Father, in a recent interview, has once again distinguished himself from the drooling plebeians that surround him. His profound views on fatherhood should be read by every father to be, as this advice alone will result in children winning multiple Nobel Prizes.

“I guess that late at night, I’m not so much scared as thinking of it as a huge unknown. I want to prepare for it the way I do everything else in my life. I make lists. I make plans. But being a father is different. I think that people go into it and find out, Holy shit, I have no control.”

As you can see, I take after father in the list department. Although his are much more ambitious than mine, I am sure. Not only does he schedule things like, "rear savior to the world" but I am sure he's got to be in the weight room and break down film of opposing defenses. I like how he refers to me as a Huge Unknown - which coincidentally I had been considering submitting to them as a possible boy name (you can't spell Huge Unknown without H-U-N-K).

Speaking of gender, while mother and father are aware of my sex, I respect their decision not to reveal it to the general public until the last possible minute. Imagine if told today that I was a stallion of a male inside mother's perfect uterine accommodations - parents across the world would begin slaughtering their sons on the spot, preventing these boys from experiencing a world where no woman would ever want them while I exist (it would be the responsible thing to do). To prevent mass infanticide, mother and father have taken the proper precautions of keeping my gender secret. With my perfectly tender yet callused hands, I applaud them. When I am presented to the world, the twinkle in my eye should be enough to calm the urges of parents to smother their children. It's like someone bedazzled my goddamn irises, I'm telling you.

She's apparently so hairy, it enrages people. They better look out for
drool puddles though! I say that because she's a mouth breather!

You may wonder my thoughts on father's apparent growing affection for the Umlaut. I have two. Either he has hundreds of wallets for her to steal, or he is dedicating his offseason to personally heal those with only the most debilitating of brain injuries. Those are the only possibilities.

Growth Note: My pulse is the beat to which 'your own drummer' is marching.