Nov
17

Dear Science Babies,

Let’s talk about sex, babies. Yours. You are fourteen weeks old today, and sometime soon your father and I will discover whether you are boys or girls, or one of each. This is quite exciting for me, as it will help you to seem more like little people, and less like malevolent parasites systematically leeching from me my food and energy.
I honestly do not care whether you are a boy and a girl or two girls or two boys. Your father used to be rather set on having a girl, and when we first discussed having twins, long ago, he was quite adamant about not wanting twin boys. The reason for this turned out to be that he had known two sets of fraternal twin boys, and all four young men had been irredeemable assholes. As compelling as that evidence wasn’t, the more interesting part of this discussion, to me, was the part where your father revealed the names of the most terrible of the sets of twins: Eric and Something Thompson. The Thompson Twins. Your father didn’t find this nearly as amusing as I did (which is nothing new), and shockingly asserted that, in fact, no one in the town he grew up in found this worthy of comment. Your father grew up in Iowa, you see. Iowa is a lovely place in many ways, but obviously the fact that these Thompson Twins were never teased in school shows a chilling humorlessness that I hope to shield you from. In this house, children, we laugh at things, even things that are only moderately funny. We prefer Groucho to Karl, and on rainy days, we have limerick contests, or we will, as soon as you are born, providing me with willing opponents. And we never groan unappreciatively at puns, particularly puns made by your mother (your father is still working on this).
I seem to have gotten off on a tangent here, and your father is making irritated noises at me, because apparently our plans to watch a Tivo’d episode of Project Runway are more important than writing to you, on account of the fact that you cannot read yet. Never mind him.
Anyhow, the point is that your father changed his mind. One of the (very few) good things that comes of trying and failing, for a long time, to have a child, is a clarification of your priorities. If your father finds out in a few weeks that you are both boys, the tears he will cry will be every bit as joyful as those he will cry if you are one girl and one boy, or two girls. We love you already, you see. And I promise, if either of you are girls, I will never subject you to those dreadful infant head bows, nor will I dress you in uncomfortable outfits. It has never seemed fair that little boy clothes are made of comfortable fabrics obviously made for active babies, while many little girls are expected to wear outfits replete with scratchy lace and elasticized ruffled sleeves. If ever there is a time to be exempt from the tyranny of fashion, surely it is infancy. Though I reserve the right to undermine your dignity by dressing you in little hats with ears, whether you are boys or girls. I love those little hats with ears. Lastly, If you are both boys, I promise not to let your father name you Simon & Simon, as he is currently threatening.
And that is all I have time for right now, as your father has progressed from irritated noises to sighs, and besides, it is time for your ice cream.

No fighting, and kindly refrain from using my bladder as a plaything.
Love,
Your Mother

By Alexa | Posted in Ceci N'est Pas Une Ecrivaine |