I've never been pregnant and don't plan to be that way. Expectant mothers are advised not to drink, smoke, skydive, or do anything fun. What a drag.
Pregnancy also changes once-sane adult women into masses of quivering estrogen. They throw up every morning. Their boobs inflate to Goodyear blimp size masses. They cry because the bathroom is the wrong color for the newly purchased bath towels. It's like they are possessed, which I guess they are in a sense. Our species could never survive without impulses making women stretch headphones across their swollen abdomens, playing music to a fetus that hasn't even developed ears to listen.
All this womb-centered hysteria can mark a child for life. While in the throes of this madness, women attempt to name their babies. The results are at times painful for the children and all human beings they will interact with in their lifetime, as teachers, new acquaintances, and the hostess at Red Lobster attempt to pronounce "Amezolina". Somewhere an innocent child is at play, unaware that her future holds a horrifying experience; interviewing a job applicant named "Holiday Merlot Smith".
I'm not the only one fascinated by this phenomenon. A woman named Diane Goodman has built an entire website of material cribbed from baby-naming boards. The names are funny, Ms. Goodman's analysis is even funnier. And I'm sure some parents have stumbled on her thought-provoking site and decided their child didn't really need a name with four "y's". She should get a non-violence award for all the schoolyard beatings she's prevented.
One of the reasons I've never had kids is during a barracks drinking spree at Ft. Huachuca, we all swore on a common name for our firstborns: Dogfish Hyra. I've always wondered if any of those other people carried out their oath. So if anyone runs across a Dogfish H. Smith, let me know.
