FanPost

The Adventures of Bombilla, Jr.

Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying About The Consistency of Poop

Gentlemen (dunno if there's ladies here), Behold... My Son, Bombilla, Jr.

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Born this past June, and weighed (and I'm actually serious here) 9 lbs 11oz and was 23-in long. He's my big boy. He's almost 3 months old now, and we just finished watching our first Horns game last weekend with grandpa.

Blah blah blah. Yeah...I know. Boring.

But there's a reason why I write these words. Y'all are like my extended family. A family that I've grown to appreciate, respect, and yell at. A family that is more interested in discussing the fine points of Rodriguezezezzz A-11 offense scheme (or joke) while I keep trying to think of another word for "erection" or "diarrhea" or "love". Love that's what it's all about, isn't it? Love and football. And changing diapers.

I can do it with one hand, now: change diapers. I am the sensei of poop. I can tell the difference between a seismic event and butt murmurs. I know when the big one is coming before it enters his little intestine. I have become comfortable with poop.

Which is why I think I'm going to be able to handle this season. I have mellowed, fellows. Junior's granddad (my daddy) actually noticed that the television was intact even after the fourth FRIGGIN' BUBBLE SCREEN, the EIGHTEENTH EAST/WEST PASS, another DAMN WHATEVER THE HELL THAT PLAY IS THAT ANNOYS THE SHIT OUT OF ME!!! ...but I'm cool, now. Like a cucumber. I'm older now, and wiser. Sensitive, even, and a bit melancholy. I'm actually more like cucumber that's been sitting in a jar of sun tea on the deck of an aircraft carrier. A limp, tea-stained, fully caffeinated, deaf cucumber. What does that mean? Hell, I don't know. But you read it, and now you own a part of my own confusion so eat it, young man.

Anyway, this rambling should be considered a preface to the life and times of my youngest son. It is intended to track the growth, development, and indoctrination of my littlest Longhorn.

I will call him "Junior" in these missives.

I actually wanted to name him "Vince Godzilla", but this was dismissed by my narrow-minded wife. Pity.

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