We joke about our Mormon culture and young moms. Along with reading sexist books and decorating sugar cookies, it might be our favorite thing to do. We lament that EVERYONE we know is either pregnant or has kids. It’s fun, but it’s also a solidarity thing. We are somewhat unique.
Even though neither of us are infertile, you made me a fertility blanket in mock concern for my procreative abilities when I was married for only a year. We now make up fake fast and testimony meeting speeches about conception, wailing “We just TRY and TRY and TRY!” Then make theories about how our ovaries are shriveling as our brains grow plump.
I once asked you to get pregnant with me. And you knew what I meant. So we like to envision just how obnoxious we will be when WE get pregnant. How we will live it up. How we will plaster pictures of our “huge” 8 week bellies all over the internet as we fish for compliments. And we will say things like ALL boy or PRINCESS depending on the gender.
But for now, I support your decision against displaying the Temple in your home (as we all know it will probably counteract your current efforts to prevent pregnancy). You’re still trying to “beat those odds” on the birth control pill.
Meanwhile you know about my hippie birth control. However you don’t know that I’m another maternity blogger. I haven’t confessed that I actually want to be pregnant. Not to you. I’m hoping I can convey this to you before it actually happens. Though I think you might be suspicious. Have you intentionally ramped up your jokes to discover this information!? I wouldn’t put it past you, friend. You’re wiley.
But I when 1/3 of our relationship has been based off of this solidarity, off of the hilarity and hysteria of pregnant women, I’m not sure how to tell you that I want to become one.
Just please tell me that when I do, we can still make fun of poorly written pregnancy blogs together.