Son. I have a son.
After a rather nonchalant beginning, kicking around for a couple of hours while Beloved's contractions went from 'need a rub' to 'volume=11', a Little Man made an entrance, casually pushing through in about 5, gritting, grunting contractions.
Sunrise over the city behind us and Ben Harper warbling softly in the air.
I took a Cublet as he came out, kissed his messy little mop of velous hair, then passed him to a very satisfied looking mum.
It's a beautiful day.
Twenty-Five thousand dollars a ticket entitles one to look like a tit - This is the gown Annie O mentioned yesterday. Rihanna is dragging it along and giving every punster on Facebook the delight of a lifetime. The back vie...
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