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Cluck, Cluck, Cluck

Ooo-eeee! I got me an egg. See that cluster of round spots in the sonogram picture, below? See the one big spot surrounded by all the other little round spots? (Yeah, me neither.) According to the nurse practitioner, that thar's an egg headin' for the chute.

Straight up: This fertility stuff is weird. I've got people poking around my eggs, discussing when I last had intercourse with my husband and proclaiming stuff like, "You're lining looks nice and plump!" in public and without batting an eyelash. 

For a gal who's plenty comfortable discussing deviants, porn stars, and poop anytime and anyplace she feels like it, the fact that this makes me feel all wiggly and uncomfortable is ridiculous.

It's not even so much that people knowLeggoMyEggo.jpg about the fertility stuff (otherwise I wouldn't be writing this, now, would I?) or that I feel ashamed - I don't. (Let's face it, shame has never been my strong suit.) I think it's more that this experience feels so ... foreign. Animal-like. Oogie.

Humans... Eggs... I mean, when I think "eggs" I think, "Pass the Tobasco." Maybe I just need time to chill out, settle in with the idea - and get in touch with my inner chicken. After all, we may be looking at the beginnings of Varmint Junior up there.

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I am a writer and lazy artist who loves travel, architecture and design. Right now, I'm into photography. My fabulous husband (a.k.a. The Varmint) and I are also the principals of a San Diego-based creative agency - and new parents to the divine Baby Mak. Read More >