A few weeks ago, The Host and I travelled to Miami for The Heir's first party, also known as a baby shower. Don't kid yourself, a baby shower is not for the pregnant lady. Said pregnant lady is merely the oven baking the "guest bun of honor." She's the transportation, the biological vehicle carrying the person everyone is celebrating.

Which makes me, papa-to-be, the unwanted party crasher. On the invitation, I'm like "and guest's guest." Well, consider that party crashed then, because I enjoyed the baby shower tremendously. Then again, any party is awesome after six shots of tequila and anywhere from three to nine beers (I lost count). By the way, if any of the shower attendees are reading this, I lost my camera, my underwear, and one sock. If you found any of them, please send them over.

No, I didn't really get trashed at the baby shower. I save that for only very special occasions, like Thanksgiving and Tuesday afternoons.

The shower was a lot of fun! Friends, family, and lots of baby gifts. We got all kinds of great things, even a robotic babysitter. Sure, The Heir's room is about 25% complete, but it's practically full. The Heir has more toys than I do, and I've been buying toys for 29 years! Well, I'm bigger than s/he will be for many years, so I'll get to play with all those toys whenever I want. What are you going to do about it, Heir? Cry about it? Oh crap, s/he probably will. All night long. For months on end.

Is it too late to register for ear plugs?