All the elements were in place to start production on our new feature, but there's been a snag: We can't seem to coax the talent out of its trailer. Two-Bert started making a fuss a day and a half ago, in the form of knee-buckling contractions that reduce my wife to romanticizing the surgeon's knife, but they're too far apart to signal anything imminent. You know how it is with these temperamental superstars. Freakin' prima donnas.
Robert knows the baby is coming, and he's jarringly familiar with the delivery process, but we're making every effort to spare him the spectacle of his mama writhing around in agony. A trauma like that could skew his emotional trajectory toward something truly unseemly.
Robert did serve as a very helpful, if unwitting, courier yesterday afternoon when we took his trike out for some very important errands. Thanks to his rear payload, we now have extra shower curtain liners and a large aluminum roasting pan for catching the placenta.
