For most of my life, I was an ‘I’. Then I met my husband, and suddenly I was part of a ‘we’, as in “We have a cat who pees on everything” and “We can’t stay long because we’re really hungry.”
Then I had the Popple and I was part of a new kind of ‘we’. I often find myself saying things like, “We threw our banana on the floor this morning” and “We did a poo on our Grobag last night, didn’t we?”. No one has ever called me out on it. They should. I sound like a giant, filthy baby.
I can’t seem to stop myself, though. The Popple is, quite literally, a part of me. Back when we shared a body, our cells mingled. Her cells went into mine and mine went into her. We are carrying pieces of each other, so it’s no wonder I can’t stop talking about us as a single unit.
We do nearly everything together and are physically attached most of the time. She’s usually either standing on my lap (never sitting), balanced on my hip or eating from my boob. She even accompanies me to the toilet, where I pee with her on my lap while she tries to grab the toilet roll. It’s a weird kind of closeness, but we like it. Not as much as we like licking people’s glasses or chewing on our feet, but it’s still pretty special.