Note: Not known babies. Internet babies.
Jesse's been talking about babies ever since we went home for thanksgiving and got to see my excellent baby neice, who (TWILIGHT REFERENCE) seems to captivate everyone who lays eyes upon her (but not suck blood). I agree that she is pretty much the greatest baby to have ever been popped upon to the earth - how many babies laugh in unhuman glee when they get smacked in the face by a high-velocity dog tail? Not that many, I think. She's still in the running = toppling-forwards-but just-barely-catching-yourself-with-your-legs phase, and that is hilarious in and of itself. I could go on and on and on about her fabulousness, but I digress from my title topic.
Jesse has been talking about bees, and what our bees will be like when we accidentally become preggers, and I thought I was OK with the idea of being a mom. But when I think about the non-June-Cleaver version, the one with the morning sickness and post-partum depression and the vomit and the cranberry diapers and the wailing at every hour of the morning and the lack of being able to sit down and read a book, I'm still just really not sure.
I mean - I'm already crazy. What will happen when you add 4 billion more hormones, more pain, and fatness? MORE CRAZY. I can't even look at birth control without flying into a hormone-induced fit of crazy. "Why doesn't anyone love me!?! Why does no one want me around!?! What have I ever done to anyone to make them hate me so much?!?" This excerpt taken from an actual birth-control induced craziness. I am not kidding.
What happens when, instead of getting home from work after a 10 hour day and doing the dishes and cleaning the tub and doing laundry and then reading a book, I have to get home from work and do the aforementioned and then TAKE CARE OF SOMEONE ELSE WITH MY WHOLE ATTENTION? I think I might be too selfish for a baby. I like baths so deep a baby would drown. I like books. I like coffee. These are not baby-friendly.
Sigh. This isn't even going to happen for years, and yet... I needed to blog about it. I'm AWESOME.
Jesse has been talking about bees, and what our bees will be like when we accidentally become preggers, and I thought I was OK with the idea of being a mom. But when I think about the non-June-Cleaver version, the one with the morning sickness and post-partum depression and the vomit and the cranberry diapers and the wailing at every hour of the morning and the lack of being able to sit down and read a book, I'm still just really not sure.
I mean - I'm already crazy. What will happen when you add 4 billion more hormones, more pain, and fatness? MORE CRAZY. I can't even look at birth control without flying into a hormone-induced fit of crazy. "Why doesn't anyone love me!?! Why does no one want me around!?! What have I ever done to anyone to make them hate me so much?!?" This excerpt taken from an actual birth-control induced craziness. I am not kidding.
What happens when, instead of getting home from work after a 10 hour day and doing the dishes and cleaning the tub and doing laundry and then reading a book, I have to get home from work and do the aforementioned and then TAKE CARE OF SOMEONE ELSE WITH MY WHOLE ATTENTION? I think I might be too selfish for a baby. I like baths so deep a baby would drown. I like books. I like coffee. These are not baby-friendly.
Sigh. This isn't even going to happen for years, and yet... I needed to blog about it. I'm AWESOME.
Sean and I keep talking about bees too. He told me that one of the reasons he loves me is because he thinks I'll be a good mother. I'm somewhat skeptical on that point. I just hope I don't kill the little germs...when we have them, that is...which won't be anytime soon!
ReplyDeleteMaybe it's easier for boys to fantasize about having babies, since they're big, giant babies themselves. I say stick to your guns and don't have bees unless you want bees, because you're going to be the one doing most of the work (I say this with the knowledge that I have picked the most loving, supportive husband ever and that you've done the same. But still, the facts are the facts. Babies sure look cute on someone else's floor).