Home stories Italian In-Laws: We’re Making A Baby… Since You Guys Are Taking Forever.

Italian In-Laws: We’re Making A Baby… Since You Guys Are Taking Forever.

written by M.E. Evans September 24, 2015

Most of you know that Francesco and I have been together for a minute. We’ve been together for six years and married for three years, tomorrow. WOO-HOO! Three years and I haven’t stabbed him, guys, this shit is cake! Totally got this! We’ve spent the past three years of our marriage, like most married couples in the beginning, trying to figure out what the fuck we’re going to do with our lives. He’s an engineer, i’m a writer, artist, professional spazz/idiot and we’ve been trying to find the best place for an engineer and a professional idiot to live, work, play, make babies….

Especially make babies. Enter anxiety, right about now.

I’ve written about this a few times before, about the baby thing, and about how it is GODDAMN TERRIFYING, and there are so many decisions to make! Where to raise babies, where are we the most stable financially, where do we have the most familial support? HOW DO PEOPLE EVER HAVE CHILDREN!? Also, my vagina is still slightly nervous about pushing out a watermelon-sized human, but less nervous than she was a year ago. She’s maturing. I mean, she’s not old, but she’s braver and wiser. Go, Mrs. Hoo-Haw! Now, we’re just waiting for our careers to line up, AND for it to be a solid December so I can make a virgo. Yes, I really just said that, and yes, I know it’s batshit crazy, but I’m a virgo and I love virgos. My sister is a virgo, my brother, my dad, and half of my bridesmaids at my wedding were virgos. So, why wouldn’t I want a virgo baby? An insane little OCD, adorable mushy mess, of opinionated assholeness. Doesn’t it sound cute/terrible?

Bear Lake Utah. Taking a break from real life for a minute. #Utah

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In the meantime, everyone in our lives has been weighing in on our lack of baby-making. My eleven year old sister (a virgo) has taken to putting her mouth to my stomach and yelling into it in search of an embryo. My dad keeps telling us that our babies are going to be “retarded,” if we don’t hurry up, because he’s a shithead, and he better hope they are healthy or I’ll choke him. My friends are mostly anti-babies so they’re like, “you sure you want kids? Cause vomit is gross, plus, your hoo-haw, and also, ya know, your hoo-haw. I mean, ouch.”

Francesco’s parents, who love to take the level of weird up a notch, have taken to tutorials.

Last week we Skyped with them, because we always Skype with them, even if we’re staying in their house. We chatted about our nieces who are insanely cute, Oliver, our jobs, and of course, sex. Who doesn’t love to talk about sex with their in-laws?

“Hey guys, how are you doing? What are you doing today?” I asked them.

Francesco’s mom, “Oh, you know, nothing much,” she shrugged. Only her head was visible because she generally hides her body outside of the camera view.

Francesco’s dad leaned forward, a grin slowly spreading across his face. Then he belted out, “WE’RE GOING TO MAKE A BABY! WE’RE TRYING TO MAKE A BAAAAABY! YOU KNOW HOW?”

“Oh, my God,” Francesco shook his head and covered his face with both hands.

“Yes, we know how it works…” I smirked. I take a small pleasure in watching F squirm anytime someone says something “naughty.” The Catholic in him is fierce.

“DO YOU!? Clearly not. Or maybe you’re not doing the thing you need to do!” Francesco’s dad laughed boisterously. His wife shook her head, “no,” and rolled her eyes. Then she stepped out into full view, walked over to him, her floral nightgown trailing behind her due to the wind velocity of her sudden movement, and smacked the back of his arm with a loud, “THAP.”

“But shut up!” She laughed.

“WE DID IT!” He laughed even harder, shaking his bangs free from his perfectly formed, white, hair cloud. The new, wire-like wisps on his forehead twitched as his body heaved.

“Ew,” Francesco and I looked at each other and scrunched up our faces.

“You need to make a baby!” Francesco’s dad added, “We did  it! It’s not that difficult!”

“Okay, great, thanks mom and dad. We have to go…”


This is not the first time we’ve had this conversation over Skype, they’ve asked us to hump more once before. It is the first time that they offered some weird tutorial of the, “look what we did, you can too,” variety. Not at all disturbing. Isn’t it strange how we went from, “you two can’t sleep in a room together until you’re married,” to, “YOU SHOULD HUMP MORE!” Social norms are weird. Parents are weird. Life, well, life is super weird and it seems that it’s only getting weirder. Help, guys.

In the comments below tell me how you came to the decision to make babies, when, how, and whether or not you were coaxed by a family member, friend, or random patron in a restaurant (that’s happened to me, too).

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