I can already tell by my intentions going into this post that I’m going to receive some phone calls. I also have the feeling that my ears will ring or my nose will itch, or whatever weird body thing happens when people talk about you while you’re not around.
Lately something has come over me. It came over me much like one of these west coast waves you always hear about. You know, the ones that you hear about washing up and then sucking you back down with its wicked undertow. It seems I was hit by one of these waves. And when I finally stood up again, I was totally upside down.
I have become babified. Every baby I see, I start to imagine how it will look once my and Toby’s genes are both present. Is it wrong that I’ve become excited about this? It’s not a dinner we’d be making, it’s not a mixture of paint. It’s a god damn baby. But still, I’m all putting together this imaginary baby in my head using parts of Toby and parts of myself as if it were a sculpture. It’s like I’m picking out a new car or something. Which, incidentally, we have begun to discuss as well. I am only now realizing how maybe this is yet another baby diversion. And since we can’t get a dog (another Noe Valley, pre-baby staple) because we are overrun by fat cats, I think maybe we’re thinking about cars. Can’t have a baby or a dog? Buy a new car!
I know we live in Noe Valley which is also known as Baby Valley, but it’s not just that. I have no aspirations in becoming a raging, post dot-com, capri-pant wearing, black (or green) SUV driving yuppie like many ornaments dotting our valley. I have no pressure coming in from anywhere. My biological clock was only just recently pulled out of the box.
I know that it won’t come as a surprise to anyone when I say that I truly adore my husband. I’m sure that for those who know the both of us, you are all very well aware of this fact, probably pretty sick of hearing it too. And for anyone else who reads this site (which by the way, thank you for giving me the time of day, I’m not sure how you do) you may also realize as much. But it doesn’t hurt to say it again especially because I still find it so amazing. I love him. I really do. I love that he’s smart and unbelievably witty. I love his big head and his crazy hair (when he lets it get that way). I love that he’s wearing the shoes that I bought him. I love his freckles, and the way he speaks and that people still think he’s a girl over the phone. Most of all, I love that he’s nice. Oh my goodness, is he nice! And he’s kind. He’s one of the kindest people I have ever met. I’m lucky. There isn’t a day that goes by I don’t know this.
Lately, we’ve been kicking around with Cathy and Mike. And they have a little girl. She’s amazing. I’ll leave it at that. And if the internet didn’t scare the hell out of me sometimes with its search strings, I’d post a picture of her and talk about her endlessly. But I won’t. I could easily blame this all on them. I should. I should just blame Cathy and Mike and their unbelievably smart little girl. That’d be easy. But there’s more to it than that. Truth is this: I know that the nose should live on. I really just want a TobyJoe nose of my own. And I want it to be placed on something I made. It’s all about that damn nose. I blame it on his nose. (And those little baby socks, but those are a given).
Is it a wrong reason to want a baby through the dismemberment of the person you love?
Mihow 
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