Babies, it seems, are everywhere.
I’ll start by saying I am not having one. Or two, or any number of babies, any time soon.
Soon being somewhat relative because for most (and by most I mean all) of my life kids were the kind of dream that I said “Well yes, but…in X number of years” the X typically being a number greater than five. And as we all know in five years a lot can change. Rob Lowe isn’t on drugs but Charlie Sheen goes totally (even more) batshit, we are on Facebook not MySpace, the best Superbowl commercial is by Chrysler not Bud Light and words like “Twitter” enter into Presidential debates.
Yes, a lot can happen in 5+ years.
And now, kids are no longer in that 5+ category, hypothetically “life-plan” speaking. I can’t pinpoint when exactly they are in the plan, although I can assure all haters of children, Mommy-bloggers and ankle-biters (my affectionate term for poorly operated strollers) that they are not happening this year. However the last few years have taught me that time mother-fing-flies and the thought that they could be in the next few years has me eyeing my “BEFORE CHILDREN” bucket list with growing apprehension. That trip to Africa has not yet been planned my friends. Something tells me it might not happen. The “lets go back to Napa Valley” trip is looking a little suspect as well because our friends keep getting married in awesome-but-not-Napa-Valley locations, dwindling our “fun trips” budget to a drive to an outlet mall about an hour away. (There is a Sonic nearby, obviously, part of what makes it FUN, that and the sale cardigans!) (Do you have any bucket lists? Anything fun on them?)
The Daisy-B household is considering a new car in the “next year-ish” future and we realized that this new car? Has to have car seat logistics considered before it can be purchased. For a couple that enjoys sleeping in, runny cheese and breakables on low shelves, this makes us both tuck the Consumer Reports on American made SUVs back under the Crate and Barrel catalog. Ooh look, an impractical white couch. Lets spend our money on that instead. An excellent investment piece for small-condo city dwellers, no?
Kids are amazing and adorable, but B has a typical male pattern thinking of “What if I’m a horrible parent?” that slows him down (despite my repeated assurances that everyone is a horrible parent at some point but that he has all the makings of a truly amazing, doting, baseball catching, hair bow clipping, rocking, reading and pinewood derby sanding kind of Dad- which is one of the many reasons I love him) and I have the typical female pattern thinking of “Hahahahah no booze or runny cheese or sushi for nine months plus stretch marks and not fitting into my favorite yoga pants or jeans anymore NO WAY” kind of thinking despite B’s assurances that he won’t judge me if I eat three orders of tempura sushi rolls at our favorite Japanese restaurant nor will he begrudge me some new yoga pants. Also: we both like sleep. We get really annoyed when the dog snores. That doesn’t bode well for parenthood.
For now, children remain in the hazy future, albeit a future that keeps getting closer in the odd way that birthdays and deadlines and other milestones do. I’m not sure when or where we will head down that path, but I would be lying if I didn’t admit it wasn’t something we talk about (ok fine, I talk about it while B’s eyes glaze over a little and he nods at all the right parts) and debate and occasionally say “EH WHATEVER, POUR ME ANOTHER GLASS OF WINE” and put off for another day.
Whew. These nonexistent kids are already exhausting me.