My Third Son

I heart French people. Er, the French family is to whom I was referring, though I am an admitted francophile. But since it’s 12:35pm, I can’t express all of that overwhelming, primarily inappropriate love right this minute. Just that it’s never not a good time and I can’t not speak in double negationness. Osity. Ment.

Um, here’s a picture and I’ll tell you more later, mkay? It’s gonna be one of me and my nephew-son, Zephyr Zain, who is the lovin’-est lovalump evah! I’ve only now discovered the profoundness of having nephews/nieces. Seriously, I knew there was that retarded obsessive love that can’t be described between yourself and your own biological child. But – and this is because Ethan’s birth overlapped Ezzie’s and was therefore overshadowed in this sense by my realizing the profoundness of child-rearing – I never appreciated why people were so obsessed with their seemingly unspectacular nieces/nephews. I can’t really relate because mine are spectacular but! I cannot believe how obsessed I am with Zain. He’s like a little version of my sister and brother (obviously, I don’t mean one of my biological brothers, that’d be gross) that I hold and see myself in and it’s like this overwhelming and tangible feeling that I had no idea would be so close to how I feel about Ezra. Now that Ezzie’s older, it’s even stronger. It’s another baby that I would be with 100% of the time if I could and who has a part of me within him. I…could probably go on and on since I’m totally aware of just how much is lost in translation. If you don’t get what I’m saying, there’s nothing I could say to make you get it. Yet here we are. Still talking.

Don\'t mind me. I\'m just looking retarded, as usual.

Okay, but seriously, I’ll tell more about the actual visit. Until then, you can visit Andrew H. Mortimer’s memory.


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