O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?

Bear with me, this is a Friday and my thoughts are scattered and fleeting at best. 

Fact #1:
My birthday is coming up in April.  Normally, Wesley and I do not get each other presents. 

Fact #2:
I spent hundreds of hours building up our yard a few years ago by cleaning out lots and pens that are in the general vicinity of our house.  My routine was... one tiny little scoop of dirt out of the cattle pen and in the skid steer, drive 150 yards down the road, dump the tiny little scoop of dirt on the yard.  Repeat, repeat, repeat.  Hundreds of times, I kid you not. 

Fact #3:
My husband gets great pleasure from driving me up the wall.  We don't get many channels on the television, so I like to think that this is his primary source of entertainment. 

Fact #4:
Wesley walked in the house yesterday - smiling.  I should have known something was up.  He said that he got me a birthday present (really? a month and a half early?).  I started to smell a rat.  He said that he felt so bad after watching me spend weeks on the skid steer hauling one bucket load at a time of dirt that he finally broke down and bought me a dump truck.  In a blinding fit of rage, I scanned the house quickly for available projectiles to throw at him. 

No flowers, cards or ballads.  No sir, that's not our style.  Instead, we resort to teasing and dump trucks.  This is my version of Romeo. 

Start praying for the baby now.