Sarah Palin is pouring herself an extra-strong moose-mosa today, because she’s about to be a grandma for the sixth and seventh time. She’s probably already on Amazon searching for little tiny blinged-out Ski-Doo jackets for her future lil’ slednecks. She better keep a tab open so that when those babies are born, they can pick themselves up a couple of onesies that read: In Case I Get Lost During A Messy Family Party, Please Return Me To ____.
That birth announcement barely even looks like a birth announcement; it looks more like a targeted Instagram ad for an essential oil company run by toddlers called Cross + Arrow.
But all I care about is what Willow will name those babies. Willow comes from a long line of truly janky names. Track, Bristol, Willow, Piper Indy, Trig, Tripp, Kyla, Sailor, Atlee Bay. When the hospital nurse hands her the birth certificate forms to fill out, I have a feeling she’s going to keep the family tradition alive with something like Carp and Trout, or Brake and Shift. Of course she could go normal. But then the hospital nurse also better hand Willow the papers for a DNA test, because she was clearly adopted at birth.