What Child Is This?

For those unaware of my history, I always wanted five sons.  Between my experience with high school mean girls and my time spent working at a Girl Scout Summer Camp, I was relieved to welcome boy after boy after boy.  I figured a girl would cost way too much money, call me bad names in her teen years, and blame me when she shot to 6' 2" in 6th grade.

Still, my super-sized sons wreaked so much havoc on my uterus that I was medically cut off at 3 boys.  Don't get me wrong, I am grateful.  But somewhere in my mind, little Sean and Michael will always be missing at the dinner table (or even little Riley or Margaret or Emily because it's not like I wouldn't have loved them).

I've tried to talk my husband into adopting a couple more kids.  His response?

No.  We're good.

So when my doorbell rang last night and I spied a car zipping away, I thought that maybe this was it...finally, an abandoned baby left on my doorstep to love and cherish all of my days.

When I opened the door, I instead found this:

Feel free to marvel at the glorious poo-colored carpet. 

I've already checked with my usual suspects of people who drop funny things off on my door, and nobody has yet to fess up.

On the bright side, it is a boy.