So I’m super uncomfortable referencing this pregnancy as anything other than a pregnancy. For example, I don’t refer to the movements I feel in my stomach as the “baby” moving. And I don’t talk about the “baby’s” room or the “baby’s” furniture, etc. etc. There are multiple reasons for this. First, I’m not comfortable with the whole baby thing. Second, calling it anything but “it” makes it seem more human.
Beyond my politics on this issue – which I will spare you – I find it to be bad luck to talk about this pregnancy, or any pregnancy, for that matter, as anything but that – a pregnancy. Sure, after the first trimester, the possibly of a miscarriage drops dramatically. But we all know that nothing is guaranteed, and that things can go wrong in a pregnancy at any point. So, for now, I prefer to reference the impending blessed event in the abstract.
Or through code.
Referring to this as a pregnancy or “it” gets old. And boring. So HC and I – through the contributions of others – have come up with some other names for what’s growing inside me.
1. The Stranger Inside Me.
AM came up with this gem during a rant over dinner a few months back. In her monologe, AM was discussing her concern about how “there might be a penis growing inside you right now!” when she launched into how this thing is an utter and complete stranger and what if we don’t like the same things. And, yes, by “we” AM meant her and the stranger.
I understand all of AM’s concerns as they are mine too. But here’s the thing. The younger you get someone, the easier it is to brainwash them. We get this guy from Day 1. I already have plans to play lots of show tunes and big voice divas for this guy when it arrives. Besides, what happened with me and Alex P. Keaton are flukes. Well, fluke isn’t the right word. With me, my parents and family members set me on this path, albeit unknowingly. I learned the lessons. Just turns out it didn’t make any sense for them to be Republicans. Still doesn’t. And with Alex P. Keaton, that’s TV. Which is, of course, critically important. But you know, someone wrote that. It didn’t just happen.
2. My Dark Passenger.
If you’ve seen Dexter, on Showtime, you know where this comes from. But I find it hilarious to refer to how “My dark passenger won’t let me do that.” Or “My dark passenger holds a grudge.” It’s just funny. Seriously, it is.
3. CoCo. Full name: CoCo White Chocolate.
During the first snow storm when I was snowed in with the LJs and HC was in Copenhagen, HC brought us back some chocolates from his trip. The box we opened had different chocolate flavored marzipan pigs. I didn’t know they were marzipan, or I would not have opened it. Because I hate marzipan. A lot.
Anyhoo, ALJ announced that she thought that, instead of “it”, she refers to it as CoCo, which represents the first two letters of HC and my last names. I liked this a lot, but HC thought this was false advertizing. HC firmly believes, and he’s probably right (tho it kills me to admit that), that this baby probably will be the whitest baby on the planet. This is in large part because HC is the whitest guy on the planet. Don’t get me wrong. I’m bringing a lot of whiteness to the table myself. But I’m more olive-y than straight up white. And HC is white white. Like WHITE white. Anyway, this and the chocolate pigs inspired HC to lengthen the name to CoCo White Chocolate.
P.S. For the record, I don’t like white chocolate AT. ALL. So marzipan white chocolate pigs were like my kryptonite.
4. This Guy.
Turns out, I’m a sexist. Instead of it, I often refer to this guy as “This Guy.”
HC and I decided not to find out the sex of the baby. A) I don’t care. And I really mean that. I’m obsessed with all the things that could be going wrong at this exact moment, not on whether we want pink or blue stuff. Which brings me to B) I don’t want to pre-genderize this guy. Okay, “pre-genderize” is probably not a word. But I don’t want to start thinking of this guy in terms of gender yet. I don’t plan on ignoring the sex of this baby once it’s born. That seems just as radical an extreme as a Pepto Bismol bedroom. But I don’t want to shape its future based on its sex. And then there’s C) my mother just couldn’t handle knowing the sex. She just couldn’t. She’s already baby crazy, and this might push her right over the top. And I’d lose all control.
So we don’t know the sex. Despite this fact, I often refer to this pregnancy in the masculine. It’s not even because I think it is a boy. I think most, if not all, of that prediction stuff is huey. It’s more because, turns out, it’s my default. I find this disturbing.
My aunt – my mother’s youngest sister – refers to my pregnancy as Tyler. When I asked her why Tyler, she explained that she was sure that I would name this baby some non-gender specific name. Like Tyler. I don’t have much else to say about this other than this – now I’m looking for a non-gender specific name. Or I’m going to name a girl Roger and a boy Jill. Just cause.