unfit to father at any speed

what, me parent?

i know i have expressed this sentiment before but, really, we have to toss in the proverbial spit-up towel now. someone please call child welfare services and book them an appointment for mrs nice guy's due date. we are both thoroughly unqualified to be parents.

every other parent-to-be in this city has their shit repulsively together: one week after finding out wifey is expecting, they've enrolled their uborn child in baby yoga and portuguese lessons. at two months, they're interviewing at the 92nd street Y and arranging for the proper shady stock analyses to be issued. at five months they're banging out the details of their wills, their child's trust fund, the philanthropic foundation that will bear their baby's name. at six months, they request applications from harvard and yale. you get the picture.

us? forget even coming close to competing with our type A supermommy manhattan cohort of genetic mutant freakparents. we don't have any baby gear yet. i have no idea how to change a fucking diaper. we barely remember when mrs nice guy is due. talking with mrs the wife last night i realized we both completely lost count of how far along in her pregnancy she is. i think we're somewhere between month six and seven. who knows? don't even ask us what fucking week mrs nice guy is in. forget it. we suck.