Congrats to Nicole Richie and her uterus, which is currently growing a small penis. (It has a person attached to it, too, but isn’t that all men really are anyway? Penises with bodies attached? Or is that the kind of thinking that results in me being eternally single?)
“Joel bought water-based paint for the nursery and — surprise, surprise — it’s blue,” says a pal of the couple, who adds that Nicole refers to the baby as “he.” “Plus, she recently ordered some plush animals and infant toys from FAO Schwarz, and everything just happens to be blue.”
Ya know, my mom had a thing about baby colors. She didn’t want me to feel like I had to associate my gender with any limitations, color being one of them. So she tried to use neutrals or mixes of color in my room. In fact, the mobile above my cradle was made of tin foil dolls. There was Mrs. Tin Foil and Mr. Tin Foil and baby Tin Foil. Although they didn’t really have gender identifiers, so I suppose they could just as well have been Mr. and Mr. Tin Foil and the Tin Foil baby they had through a surrogate. Thank you, Mom, for the open-mindedness you instilled in me as a child. It basically worked, except now I have this overpowering need to marry a man made of tin foil.