I don't do cute pictures with cakes or chalkboards or other appropriate props. Instead, I give you this. A blog post filled with fetuses and voodoo and questionable Google image searching.
You know those friends? The ones that have a deep, dark weird that is kin to your own? I've always found that when things get overwhelming, I can turn to those friends with my favorite coping mechanism: an abiding sense of black humor. I don't have to explain that I'm really okay -- or that I'm going to be okay -- or that none of my dark jokes are plots I plan to put into action. (Except for the ones that would clearly make genius plots -- the weird people already know which ones those are.)
A few weeks ago when I found myself suddenly and unexpectedly expecting, I was overwhelmed in all possible senses of the word. And the world at large -- at least, the small world of people we shared the early news with -- was excited and congratulatory and squeely before I was ready.
Slowly, I became ready for excitement and congratulations, and one of the small turning points was a Facebook messenger conversation I had with two friends who understand the power of absurd laughter. Two friends who don't even know each other, but who I think would recognize a deep, dark weird kinship if they ever met.
The conversation began when I shared a picture another friend had taken. The picture showed a deer, reaching forward, mouth slightly open, about to snag a bite to eat in the dark of dusk or dawning. The deer's eyes glowed meanly in the flash, and it had an eerie quality.
"I'm fairly certain this is a chupacabra," I messaged my friends, Mabel and Keith.
"A chupavenado," countered Mabel. Venado is Spanish for deer.
probably drawn to our woods by the promise of fresh-born baby flesh.," I told her, "I'm going to have to tell Chris to get a sword to fend off the
baby-eating things we'll attract." By this time, both Mabel and Keith knew about the super secret fetus.
Mabel, who is possibly an expert on Hispanic lore, advised me that I should protect the fetus by wearing chupavenado repellant, such as a necklace made out of habaneros and garlic. That sounded like an awesome wardrobe addition during a vomitty first trimester, but I countered with, "Can I just eat Chipotle and call it the same thing?"
"You'll have to constantly fart in order for that to work. Which is good, 'cause I know from experience that will now be the norm," my lore-master answered, completing her mission of grossing everyone out for the day.
Keith finally chimed in, saying that at least it was an option. I countered again, not caring for any of the fetal-protection options provided, "Chris has a gun. Chupavenado can be killed with regular bullets, right? Have Sam and Dean done this one before?" (Obligatory Supernatural reference when discussing baby-eating monsters. Or any monsters.)
Mabel said the gun would work if the bullets were laced with hot sauce and garlic. Keith unhelpfully suggested the Colt (Supernatural again), but pointed out the obvious fact that I didn't have it in my possession.
"How about a regular handgun bathed in voodoo and Tabasco?" I suggested.
Everyone agreed that a voodoo-and-Tabasco-bathed gun would kill a chupavenado. But we also agreed there was a problem with that route. What if, in voodooing the gun, I voodooed the fetus as well? The consequences of an accidental voodoo fetus ranged from "super hero" to "chupavenado-fetus hybrid."
Obviously, the matter called for additional research, which Mabel was happy to begin. As with all good research, she started with a Google image search for "voodoo fetus."
Is this meant to represent a voodoo fetus, or is this the kind of doll you give the voodoo fetus once it's born?
Either way, how much do I want one of these for my office? Maybe with blue or green stitching instead of pink.
Would it be creepy if I crocheted one of these when the nesting happens and gave it to the baby when it's born instead of a teddy bear?
I quickly joined the important Google image research. Because everyone knows Google image searching is as contagious as the common cold.
I found this puzzling bit of chocolate that Mabel described as a "demented cake with a pretzel in its butt." I dissented, stating, "That's not its butt, that's its front. Is it a boy choco-fetus blob?"
Irregardless, Mabel declared that we'd found the inspiration for the baby shower cake. For the Voodoo Fetal Shower that would scare everyone away. We discussed the pros of a scary voodoo fetus cake (less hugging at the party?) for a few minutes before I realized Keith was still on the window.
"I just realized this is the window Keith is on too. I'd apologize, but I
suspect whenever he gets round to reading this, he'll be ok with it," I said.
Later, he chimed back in with, "You were correct in your assumption of my appreciation." (Remember what I said about people with weird that matches your own? You never have to apologize for your crazy to them.)
Google image search never limits itself to innocent topics such as voodoo fetuses, though. Sometime later, I messaged them and said, "You guys. Do not Google image search Fetus King. And by 'Do not,' I mean, 'Do it right now.'"
"Is that a mummy?" Mabel asked.
No. Pretty sure that's the original voodoo fetus.
It's probably good I didn't move forward with bathing that gun in hot sauce and Tabasco. So far, we've had no chupavenado sitings in our woods. I'm careful when I go out at dawn or dusk.