Before I have this child, I just want you to know that I don’t care if it has gills. I don’t. There’s a one in a twenty chance that it will not be able to breathe above land, we know this. We’ve been told this. Gills are a recessive trait, and just because we don’t have them, that doesn’t guarantee that our child won’t. There are cases of children born with gills, and the doctor has told us to take the necessary precautions. But I never really believed that it could happen to us until you set up the baby pool up in the kitchen. Seeing that large plastic molded pool filled with water just made me realize that I will love this child even if it is a freaky sea baby. And I will love it like any mother loves her child. And I don’t care if that means we aren’t normal and the Johnsons don’t invite us over anymore. We can train our fish-baby to swim right up their toilets and bite their asses…not that I want to exploit our child’s natural talents, but I’m just trying to make the best of a situation that I haven’t been trained to handle. You know? I don’t know how to raise a child that has to live in water. I never lived in water. I’ll flood the basement, I guess, or map out the sewer routes, or something. I’ll take swimming lessons. And sign language? Will it be able to talk above water? How do I nurse it? Are there schools for babies with gills? I’m nervous. I’m horrified. I don’t want a fish-baby! But, I’m just saying that I will love it no matter what. Like any mother loves her child, I will love this freak of nature, and it will live a full and meaningful life like any other child ought to live.
