For the last few months, Denny and I have been discussing the possibility of us becoming parents. And before I go any further, no, we are not pregnant, and we are not officially trying to become pregnant either. We just like to daydream about it and talk about it for hours each day. But each and every day, it seems, our dreams are crushed by the other person and all talk of babies goes down the drain – until the next day when all previous dream-crushing is forgotten and we are back to la-la land. You see, our dreams of having children are two very, very different extremes. I dream of a super-chic nursery, decked out in all of the latest must-haves and that season’s trendy colors, which involves absolutely NO theme. No ABC’s in red, blue, green, and yellow, no zoo animals, and certainly no heavy equipment. I dream about picking out a furniture ensemble that complements the nursery’s colors and fabrics perfectly. I dream of cool and sophisticated baby names that haven’t been used 5 million times before, and won’t cause confusion once my little one is off to school because there are 4 other children in his/her class with the same name. I dream of edgy, spunky baby clothes, and not the pastel, cutesy stuff that every other baby wears, especially if our baby is a boy. But Denny’s dreams are the exact opposite of mine. Denny dreams of a nursery themed with John Deere tractors, Honda 4-wheelers, or even better – both. Denny dreams of finding a crib on Craig’s list or in the pennysaver – and he could care less if it matches the rest of the furniture. He dreams of the ultimate redneck name, like Leroy, Hank, or his personal favorite, Bo. Yes, you read correctly – Bo – like one of the Dukes of Hazzard boys (to which I constantly remind him of the unlikelihood that our son named Bo will ever become an educated, successful member of society with such a name). And finally, Denny dreams of camoflauge clothing, regardless of the gender of this child. The only thing that we can agree on is that we do want a child. The rest will be decided as the need arises. But the way I see it, I have much more pull in the decision-making. You see, I will be the one who grows this baby inside of my body for 9 months, and I will also be the one who pushes it out of a teeny-tiny orifice that can barely accomodate something much smaller than a baby. So I think that I should get to have all of my dreams come true, don’t you agree? Or maybe I’m being too selfish. Oh alright, I’ll let him put a small, hot wheels sized tractor in the nursery. And he can dress the baby in camo when I’m not home. I think that’s fair!