Leïla and I, naturally, read our "Baby Bible" and try to understand exactly what excuse she has this week for being miserable. Of course, this makes me miserable too because a pregnancy just wouldn't be complete without without the woman making the man experience a similar agony.
One thing we noticed is that our book likes to refer to the baby's size in terms of edible things. We first noticed this when it said "this week, your baby is the size of a pea". Naturally, Leïla started referring to "le petit pois" (the little pea) inside of her. Unfortunately for English-speaking folks, she said she had "a little baby pea". That's bad. Really bad.
If you live in the UK, you might have gasped in shock or laughed yourself silly at that. You see, a very recent, and terribly tragic news story which has gripped the nation over here is the case of little Baby P, a beautiful little boy who was effectively tortured and subsequently murdered. Leïla saying she has "a little baby pea" in the oven in like the newlywed Mrs. Goldstein saying she has a little Jew in the oven. It's just two hundred and seventy-three levels of wrong.
Fortunately, the following week had the baby bible telling us that we had a baby the size of a bean. Unfortunately, it didn't tell us which bean. Leïla was trying to show me that beans really were larger than peas, but she had trouble finding a suitable bean, presumably because she had a handful of wasabi peas. I ate them.
We're at the point where the baby is the size of a cherry, so Leïla now refers to it as "la petite cerise" (the little cherry), but I can't help but call it "la patisserie" (the pastry), which sounds pretty much the same. Leïla's not happy about this and has announced that I'm not allowed to use this term around the child because it might get a complex if it's fat. I've explained that this is OK because our child won't know how to speak French. Leïla didn't laugh. I think I'm in trouble.
I guess what I'm really trying to say is that I, like my wife, am getting somewhat obsessed over the idea of pregnancy. It's like when you buy a Dodge Omni, a car you've never heard of, and discover the road is full of them (it really is). I can't walk more than 30 seconds without seeing another swollen belly. They're everywhere! Women walking all around with little peas, jews, and cherries in their ovens, ready to pop. It's getting to the point where I'm talking to women and they say "hey, asshole, my tits are up here!"
OK, maybe it's not that bad, but close.