Welcome the Newest Member to the Gator Nation: Daniel Timothy 6 lbs, 4oz.

I'm surprised ox didn't move this to the Political Forum just for old time sake. In any case, a couple of interesting related things to note:

1) On breast-feeding grown-ass men: After my first child, my wife was working and breastfeeding, which is no easy juggling act, I assure you. Basically, it involves going into the closet at work and "expressing" milk with a breast pump, then freezing it to re-use it later. The reason why you have to go through this routine multiple times a day is two-fold: First, if you don't express or nurse, the glands dry up and you run out of milk. That's why they used to have "mammies" (no raciss) or wet-nurses back in the day that could do this for years. The second is that the breasts become engorged and swollen and it can become very painful for the mother if she can't expel her milk.

So one weekend we drove down to Miami while my mom was looking after our son. On the way back, she realized she'd forgotten her expressing pump and was writhing in agony. She asked me to take care of it, so I pulled into the back of an office park, she unleashed the puppies and I went at it like a hungry infant. She cradled my head as I suckled the nectar of...um...anyway it was weird in that I felt like I was depriving my son of this pleasure, instinctively. But, just two short months from a half-marathon I had been training for, I was eager for the nourishment, and it paid off. I completed that half marathon, fueled by sweet warm victuals fit for the mighty athlete, and I did it in a personal record time.

2) Vasectomies: After our second child, my wife encouraged me to get fixed. I explored absolutely no options in doing this, just marched down to the nearest "Vasectomies 'R Us" clinic and had it done. Considering how much I love my penis and testes, it still surprises me how little thought I put into it. During the initial consultation, the doctor, who reminded me of the back-alley abortion doctor in "What's it all about Alfie?", asked me if I ever felt discomfort in my testes. Yeah, I responded, I thought this was normal, but every once in awhile it's like my jeans zig while a testicle zags and it's *very* discomforting. Doesn't this happen to every guy? "Well," he said, ignoring my confusion, "I'll have a look at it while I've got it opened up and do the procedure to correct it, ok?"

And so I consented, and so the doctor earned a couple extra thou by making a few more snips, almost assuredly unnecessarily. When I awoke from the procedure I was in extreme pain but rejected the opioids for a leather strap to put between my teeth and a bag of ice for my nuts. After a short period of time, it became apparent that my penis, which had once been the despair of painters and the joy of poets, was now looking quite different than I had remembered it. I had a little kink in it, and I don't mean that morally. I was furious, but what do you do at that point? Phone the doctor: "Hey mother fkker, you jacked my dick up and now I got a kink in it!" Who do I sue and what lawyer would take the case without bursting out in juvenile hysteria during the initial consultation? How humiliating would the deposition be? Anyway, the moral of the story is be careful who works on your junk. If the guy looks like he flunked the class where you dissect a frog, he probably did, and you should seek medical care elsewhere. The silver lining is that the kink now allows me to "more vigorously stimulate the g-spot during coupling," although, I have no idea what any of that means.