I have begun a regiment of instructing our Future Offspring with which baseball team to swear allegiance to. Mrs. Ranman, an unfortunate victim to Red Sox fever, does her best to poison our fetus with lies of a better team than the beloved and well-stories New York Yankees.

The other day Mrs. Ranman allowed me to touch and kiss the tummy as I normally would, and she asked if I would say anything to our avocado-sized kid now that it can hear sounds. So naturally I mentioned the greatness that are our Yankees. Mrs. Ranman scolded and forced me away from her tummy but I proclaimed “do as you may, my dear foe. But you will never be able to bend over and get as close to Avocado as I can!”

Interestingly enough, mommy Ranman can fell little pops inside that indicate movement of our little Ranman/woman and I keep trying to get a feelsy. But not only do I miss any potential slight kicking, I keep reaching for the tummy where the kicking happens nowhere near the area I’m feeling up. So I have no clue if I’m whispering sweet nothings into the baby’s ear or its bum.

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