The Black Heart of the Boppy

You know you've got pregnancy on the brain when you're in the Davis Square T station looking down at the poetry carved into the bricks, and read "Poppy" as "Boppy."

And then, when you're sitting on the T, you glance over at the newspaper your neighbor is reading and see a story about a fashion designer named "Vena Cava" and think: Hey look -- a story about the artery I'm not supposed to compress by sleeping on my back. I should read that. (The artery is the Vena Cavae, actually. But pretty darn close.)