Dear Tiny Human,
It’s too late, I’m afraid I am irrevocably in love with you.
Love,
Momma
(See that white bit in the middle of the black blob? That’s our little nugget all nestled in Camp Womb at 5w1D old. We saw a teeny tiny flicker at the scan – a little hint of the nugget’s growing heart pumping away. Next scan on Friday, that’s when we can see the heartbeat clearly. In the meantime, we are not out of the woods yet. Fingers crossed.)
One Saturday, over brunch…
Me: When we have a kid, I will get sole naming rights.
Him: Why?!
Me: Because it’s not fair that as the incubator of the child for nine months, the kid pops out and takes your surname.
Him: Too bad.
Me: Okay. Let’s talk about rights then. As the dad, you get one daddy vote. As the mom, I get one mommy vote. And because the kid is in my tummy, I automatically get the baby’s vote. Also, the patriarchal system that lets all my children take your surname grants me one vote for sheer unfairness. So that’s three votes against one.
Him: …… (sticks his middle finger out)
Me: Shall I continue?
Him: NO.
Me: The baby will be coming out of the birth canal in my vagina so my vagina should get a rightful vote. And since I will be the one gaining all that weight and looking like a whale, I get an additional hardship vote. That’s five votes against one. I win! You may offer suggestions but I will get the ultimate naming rights.
Him: … (continues sticking his middle finger out)
Me: You can never outtalk me, you know.
Him: Shuddup.
Me: I love you too.
Yannisms 