Fourteen years ago today, I came home after a token appearance at the magazine to take Mrs. M to the hospital. She had me stop and get a full-service car wash that we couldn’t really afford, because she didn’t want Googe (we didn’t know the baby’s sex at that point, so we referred to it by the name of the bassist for Masters of Reality) to come home in a grungy car.
Less than twelve hours later, we introduced MondoSpawn to my parents and to the Major and his Eurowife. Shortly after that, I held her while I watched Kentucky lose the NCAA basketball tournament final to the U of Arizona. After we turned the TV off, and after the Spawn had fallen asleep, I was scared to death. I had no idea of how to deal with a baby, and I knew it was something I wanted to Get Right more than anything before or since.
I’m not done yet, of course, but when I look at her and talk to her fourteen years later, and see how wonderful she is, I have to think, “So far, so good” — and credit it to her mother.
Happy birthday, MondoSpawn. I love you.