operation: too much information?

I'm not going to beat around the bush, people: The Mister and I have commenced Operation: Get Me Knocked Up (AKA, Operation: With Child; AKA, Operation: In a Fambly Way; AKA, Operation: No Child Left Behind That's Not in My Uterus).  Phew.  That's a lot of colons for one paragraph.   

Needless to say, this endeavor has got me thinking on many topics which I had never heretofore (seriously) considered--things like co-sleeping, carrying slings, and how much I hate the name "Brayden."  I'm slowly discovering the plethora of great (and not so great) parenting resources on the the interwebs, including Babble, OhDeeDoh, and The Meming of Life (which are, btw, included in the former category).

That last site, which I linked to my previous post, has really got my gears turning regarding the type of parents The Mister and I would like to be.  It has also (shockingly!) had me reflecting on religion quite a bit--something which I usually try to avoid, as it only seems to work me up into a frothy rage.  Which is fun every once in awhile, but usually it just gets boring and produces way too much froth for my personal taste.  

So, of course, I have a lengthy post on the topic a-brewin'...but who knows when/if it will ever see the light of day.  For right now, I just wanted to let you know that a baby is hopefully in the (my) works.  I'm not sure if "I'm trying to get pregnant" is something one usually tells people--particularly strangers on the interwebs--but, jesus, we all know I can't keep anything to myself, particularly when it involves my genitals.  

Maybe for every month that The Mister and I don't "make a baby" we can just "make a creepily realistic baby cake"...Fetally delicious!

Comments

[Elyse Sewell]

http://www.reuters.com/article/lifestyleMolt/idUSTRE4B41WG20081205

This is the Pink Wedding of baby hospitals.

[kristina]

i want the piece that has the hand. i mean the nose. also, if you want to talk about co-sleeping or any other topic that may bore the hell out of the rest of your and/or our friends, give me a call.

[kristin]

That cake is fucking gross.

[Alli]

Dear god. I assume this means that when you have your very own real spawn, I can continue to make jokes about cooking and eating it?

[Joby]

Oh. My. God.