Today is the due date for our first baby, who will soon have a real name other than Baby C or Liberty. The baby apparently did not get the memo and is still hanging out in the womb. Not my womb, my wife’s. Everyone is sending helpful advice from the ever useful book of old wives’ tales.
Full moon = baby time. This assumes that either my offspring is a werewolf or the gravity pull will take over. If the moon’s gravity is that strong, I’d have to wear a diaper every full moon.
Eat spicy food. Our daughter’s name would be Tiki Masala if this worked. I think at this point, my wife would chug Tabasco.
Ride over bumpy roads. That’s every day in this damn city. Plus I’m sure that’s not the AMA approved method. “We suggest subjecting the baby to jarring movement. That helps.”
Walking. Yes, because my wife doesn’t do anything. I told her to relax the other day and she moved lumber and cut down a bush when I was out. I think she would take on Magnus ver Magnusson in a keg toss or tractor pull to get our little one moving.
Sex. Well, this is definitely worth a shot. Good idea!
I think the best way is to threaten to sing heavy metal songs until my wife gets so infuriated the baby just pops out. Where is a karaoke machine and the Ronnie James Dio’s greatest hits?