Monday, March 26, 2012

But then, Babies.

Three women I know gave birth over the weekend, which, to my knowledge is the most babies born on a single weekend in North America, ever*.

Normally, this get my neuroses all worked up in a "do I want kids?" tizzy. The same kind of estrogen-induced whacked out tizzy that happened when all my friends got engaged or married or bought houses. It's inevitable, I think, to start comparing yourself to those around you, especially when you get older and you start feeling like those "goal posts" that meant nothing to you in your teenage years actually start to mean something. So, to stave off attacks of Self Sads, I just avoided the internet.


But then, boredom defeated me and I looked at pictures of the new little humans. And to my surprise, I didn't think much of them beyond how cute they were (which is notable in itself; I didn't think babies were cute until I was in my 20's). Blame it on the break up, or my lack of career and private housing, or that I have yet to meet someone who I like so much that I want to make tiny, controllable versions of them, (except, maybe, Jon Hamm)





but the actual desire to have kids wasn't on the radar. So I went on with my day, and took a coma nap.

But then, I woke up and opened the thank you card my "niece" sent me:

she's really sharp for a 3 year old
and I started to think how cool it would be to form a little person into someone awesome. To share my old toys with. To teach how to spell and how to write essays.

But then, I stood up and nearly fell over, because somewhere between Saturday night and Sunday morning and the beer-mosas I was drinking, I felt the need to show off my intense physical prowess** with pilates, squats and lunges, which has resulted in complete and utter pain from my hips to my ankles. (I also won my first ever arm wrestling match, which is a victory for me and all the other T-Rex arms out there)

Oh, the quandaries of adulthood. I figure, when drunk calisthenics and staying up til dawn and sleeping til 3 PM and sitting around writing all day in my pj's is no longer fun, then I'll consider kids--and by kids, I mean, human children. Not baby goats. Even though baby goats are just about incredible.

can't. handle. cuteness on bucket.

In other news, I had an amazing weekend, even if Hunger Games was a big let down (at least it was for me). Oh, and speaking of Jon Hamm, MADMEN IS BAAAAAAAACK, and despite a few hiccups, it seems to just as engrossing as ever. And speaking of babies and TV shows that are back, 16 & Pregnant starts again tomorrow.

You know where I'll be.

*this is probably a lie


*this is definitely a lie

2 comments:

bunnymachine said...

I may be one of the few here - but I want to have a/some kid/s because I'm excited to raise them into (hopefully) really awesome adults. I don't want babies forever, that would be like my own personal brand of hell. So I dig it. Dude, thinking about my goal of "kids by 30" and how that is barely more than 3 years away? Gives me uncomfortable heart flutters. Holycrapchildren.

Audrey Turner said...

3 years to 30 D: /heartpalpitations

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