Uncle Scott!

Soon-to-be Uncle Scott visited us this weekend, and got a taste of what our crazy domestic bliss looks like. Let me tell you, we are hard-core partiers!

We did have a great time hanging out, showing Scott the city, and having him participate in all of our “pregnancy fun”. Like having sushi for dinner, and then driving immediately to the burger joint because I HAD to have a root beer float with soft serve ice cream. Except they didn’t have soft serve. So I got a churro. Which didn’t satisfy my craving, so Scott ate most of it. And then we went home and made root beer floats with what we had in the freezer.

There are so many wonderful things about my little bro….I can’t wait for Max to meet him! Here are just a few of the many things that Scott can contribute to Max’s life:

1) Teach Max how to surf. Yes I am afraid of this because I hate the ocean. However, Scott has literally grown up in the water and surfed all over the world. I just won’t be there when he teaches Max. Especially after that one time, when I told Scott that he could get eaten by sharks while surfing, and Scott said “That’s not a bad thing. I wouldn’t mind going that way. I mean, I am in their territory, it’s only natural.” Just to push my buttons.

2) Teach Max all sorts of jokes. Especially the “Hand me my brown pants” pirate joke that he taught Katie when she was little. Scott would set the joke up and Katie (at 5) would tell the punch line. They would both do the pirate voices and I would cry I was laughing so hard.

3) Babysit. He’s moving to SF for Grad School, and we are more than happy to swap food, laundry, and other things for free (trustworthy!) baby sitting.

4) Give moral support. Scott’s great at listening, looking at things in different ways, and reminding me of what’s important in life. Plus, he’s worked with kids for years….and can definitely change a diaper or wipe up puke. Yay!

5) Art. I can’t draw, paint, or color inside of the lines. But Scott sure can. I have zero artistic talent. Scott can help Max to sculpt from Play-Doh, instead of eating it.

6) Height. We’re hoping that whatever recessive gene gave my little brother his six feet one inch frame will somehow find it’s way onto Max’s DNA, even though it skipped over me completely.

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