About
Yes, we’re spawning.* The monster** is due in August, 2011, and we’re very excited. Or will be, once one of us stops counting the minutes of misery left to complete the day, and the other gets to stop hearing about the minutes of misery. {Oh, have you not heard? Being pregnant isn’t rainbows and butterflies. It’s gassy and indigestion and tummies full o’ acid; nausea and super sniffers and believing the dog is sick when really, his mouth has probably always smelled just like that.}
*Forgive the term, but I’m weird (you knew this) and can’t manage to say “expecting” or “with child,” so I tend to say “spawning” and “procreating” and “reproducing,” but mostly “spawning.”
**Aaand, as further evidence of aforementioned weirdness, I can’t say “the baby” or “my baby” or “my child.” I spent a week calling it “the alien” and “crazy alien creature” and “the alien-like spawn within.” Seriously, a creature that can go from cells to a beating heart in four weeks? ALIEN. Or just plain awesome. So after realizing we couldn’t continue to call the thing “the thing” without seeming uncaring, we settled on “the monster.”
It’s perfect. “The monster made me do it” has become a rather fabulous explanation for everything, a practice I hope to continue far into the foreseeable future. And thank you, Pixar, the term now conjures up adorable fuzzy monster-ish creatures rather than, well, alien spawn.
