Ok, perhaps not totally, but here's the thing with Porter: if I had a girlfriend who, after five months, was complaining about being too hot, or too cold, wanted to eat every two hours, and needed constant attention when she wasn't sleeping, she would have quickly found herself kicked to the curb.
Although, there is a tender moment of burping your special girl that brings the two of you closer . . . but I digress.
With a baby, you know what you signed up for. At least, you should have known. Either way, I have no sympathy for those who knew or those who didn't know.
But you should have sympathy for me. At least I would have demanded you have sympathy for me, regardless of whether I deserved or you would have given it, until last week.
That's when our accountant called with the tax refund numbers for this year.
Lil and I have always done reasonably well on the tax refund when we're not getting hit with capital gains on a house we probably should have held longer. That's a roll of the dice I'd like to have back, but you have to bet big to win big.
Except when you bet small and win big. Or bet medium to win semi-large to moderately small.
Again, I digress.
This year, even though Porter seemed to be heading for a burlap sack and a cinder block . . . or perhaps just up on EBay to the first bidder, his clever ploy to win our affections have come to fruition. Not only is he cooing, giggling more, and brooding less, but he's also worth quite the tidy sum according to the Federal and State governments. A tidy sum that
they have to give to
us.
Take that Big Government!
