Now that the cat’s out of the bag about the impending new addition to the Buried family, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty: gender identification.
When we realized Mom and Buried was pregnant, we started speculating about what it would be. My wife wanted a girl for a variety of reasons, some that were general (a girl to bond with!), some that were personal (she grew up with, and loves having, sisters), some that weren’t big priorities (variety!). I know, a mom wants a little girl? This is not surprising to people.
What may be a surprise is that I wanted a girl too!
Will we get one? You’ll have to come to my house for a slice of color-coded cake to find out!
There are a million titles I could have used for this post:
Practice makes perfect.
Glutton for punishment.
Stupid is as stupid does.
Misery loves company.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends.
But for whatever reason, referencing Albert Einstein’s (but maybe not?) famous quote seemed to make the most sense.
Back in the summer of 1986, my older brother and I attended a sleep-away camp. He was twelve and going with a friend. I was only nine, but after going along on a reconnaissance mission earlier that year, I had decided I wanted to attend the camp too.
It was two weeks long, in some far off part of Connecticut (as far off as you can get in a state as small as Connecticut) and for some reason we would be joining the camp in the middle of the summer session.
It was my first time, and for reasons that will quickly become obvious, my last time, at sleep-away camp.