Attack of the Were-Dad

It took awhile for Katie to realize that it was a Werecub she was having. In retrospect, it makes perfect sense, but it's not the sort of thing you expect, right?

She knew that I'm obviously some sort of werewolf (or were-something) given my strange allergy to silver. She wasn't expecting that her impending baby would be a were-something, though, or that the were-baby (or, more properly, Werecub) would start affecting her own senses, lending her a bit of the ol' were-sniffer. That was unexpected, and has made certain smellier tasks tricky for her. I'm really hoping that the were-schnoz will wear off by the time Werecub is actually born or I'll be on full-time diaper duty (despite my own were-sniffer, making the task doubly onerous).

Sure, dealing with a month of sick pregnant wife was difficult, but not as bad as one might assume. In fact, I noticed that there are a few perks that I hadn't realized that come with the territory of being the Weredad. For example, she's not supposed to eat much red meat, particularly stuff that's high in sodium. Suddenly, I have no competition for any sausage around the house. Further, the Werecub seems to have robbed Katie (Weremom?) of her urge to consume some of her favorite foods like popcorn; I expected that eating popcorn around her would earn me some spite and ire, but when I did, all the response I got was "Ugh, keep it away from me."

The other bit of good news is that I get to acquire tools now for the sheer point of having them. I'm pretty sure that's part of being a dad.