Since I was approximately 12 years old, my mother has told me repeatedly that she hopes I have a child who is just like me.
She seems to think this would be some sort of poetic justice, and I will be punished for all my alleged sins (I was, and still am, the perfect child).
I think it sounds like the awesomest baby ever, so I’m not really worried.
Recently though, she’s changed her tune. Now she thinks it would be a terrible thing to happen …to Mike.
“He’s just such a nice guy. I wouldn’t want to do that to him.”
Gee, Mom. Thanks.
Last week, a few days after our embryo transfer, Mike was getting a little sassy (in an adorable, jokingly smartass way that I appreciate and encourage) and I don’t really remember exactly what he said, when I told him that I hope both babies stick, and I hope they’re both girls, and they’re each tiny little Ashley clones — and he’s stuck with three of me.
He said that is literally his worst nightmare.
I think he was kidding.
I guess we’ll just cross that awesome bridge when we come to it.