While I'm dreaming up the perfect baby shower, The Mateo is dreaming up virility metaphors.
His sperm are laser-guided missiles, his sperm are mighty warriors, his sperm are Olympic swimmers with outboard motors.
My eggs, he says, are like planets with massive gravitational pull, sucking in any sperm lingering nearby.
The Mateo has a spring in his step, a grin on his face.
"Wow. Four. Wow," a co-worker said to him. The Mateo chuckled.
"That's why they call me Big Poppa," he answered.
We laugh uproariously every time he says it. It's not just the humorous incongruity of a white boy adopting rapper vernacular.
It's because laughter, I'm thinking, is going to be our best defense against insanity.
Because four kids is a Bona-fide Big Family these days. It borders on craziness. Four kids shatters people's paradigm of normalcy. We have crossed to The Dark Side!!
I told The Mateo his main job in the next 9 months is to keep me laughing.
"Sure," he agrees, "as long as you call me Big Poppa."