Alyssa is in the same stage of pregnancy as Sed, preparing to give birth to Margarita's Internet boyfriend. She finally got a sonogram image (not having constant access to the machines like we do), and fortunately it was not of the genitals. Forgive me my caveman protectorate ideals, but even in jest I can't think about my daughter and boy parts in the same brainwave without wanting to club the offending boy over the head and then scream at him unintelligibly. Wait until she's sixteen and they're knocking on my door.

I discussed this with Sed later that evening, and she agreed that it's never time to think about your children having sex, not unless you want your head to shoot off your shoulders and land in the wastebasket. In fact, we decided to start laying down some ground rules.

So I put my head on Sed's belly and said, "Baby, you can have sex after you're married."

"For three years," Sed added.

"Right. That's how long your mom and I waited."

And then my daughter kicked me in the face.