(Officially confirmed by ultrasound. But I knew as much anyway.)
If my instincts are correct, this one will be a boy’s boy. A bit of an Alexander the Great (or Alexander of Macedonia, as they call him around here) underneath it all. A combination of his father’s spirit and his mother’s dorkage, I think.
One person has already asked me if I’m “relieved” that the future kid has the right set of genitals. I mean, we all know that husbands want boys. Russian husbands especially. According to all the usual stereotypes, that is.
I’m happy that something that I thought is probably the case looks like it is actually the case, for sure. I’m happy for another moment of clarity. I feel relief at the fact that so far, this pregnancy is going to plan, and hope that it will keep going to plan. I don’t feel that there is any dissonance between myself and my husband on these matters. He’s happy that we’re having a kid. It’s our latest collaboration, and it’s pretty damn cool.
This week, I was also amused to read about how:
“Funfems object to being called cum guzzling pole dancers, not because that is a rude thing to say, but because it’s true.”
Oh God, ahahaha. I wish I could pole dance with the baby bump.
Though it’s funny how once they’re aware of your pregnancy, people attempt to strip away everything that makes you, well, you. You can’t be sexual, because you’re a “mommy” (even though, like Sarah Jaffe pointed out to me the other day – pregnancy can be used as visible evidence of the fact that you are, in fact, sexual). And you can’t be radical – because mommies are soft and cuddly creatures. And people forget that you have a job. And they don’t think it’s nice of you to write plays with zombies in them (my new one has zombies. Again. But maybe this one won’t get ripped to shreds by Maks Kurochkin. Maybe).
That last thing is really the worst, isn’t it? Hands off my zombies. Alexander of Macedonia loves them too.