Whose vagina exploded?
When I first found out I was having a boy, there were the stages of grief. You know, shock, denial, numbness, staring paralyzed, mouth slightly agape, at all the racks of cute girlie shit in the baby store until the clerk probably thought I was having a mild stroke.
Now, that has all gone away.
Maybe I have Stockholm Syndrome. I have fallen in love with my little captor because I have no choice: this fetus has a penis. Either way, it may have taken me a full two months or so, but I am so good with this boy thing right now.
It started with something simple, just the notion of one single phrase, the vision of me walking through my front door after work and asking, “Where’s the boy?”
