My grandfather recently reminded me that I was “wasting all of my baby-making years.” I chose to use the word “reminded” instead of “informed” in that sentence because I KNOW THESE ARE MY PRIME BABY MAKING YEARS – and so do my hormones! My body reminds me every month that I missed yet another opportunity to be a fertile vessel of new life into the world. My head reminds me constantly that every day gets closer and closer to another birthday – eek. 27. My heart squeals like a pre-teen at a Justin Beiber concert every time I see a baby. These are the years in which I am constantly reminded that my body is a baby-making machine – just lacking a few key elements for all the cogs to fall into the right places.
Yes. These are my baby years. But, just because I’m not making babies right now doesn’t mean I’m really wasting them.
Seriously, I fill nearly every second of my day with meaningful stuff. Like today, I rode my bike to work, worked, rode my bike home, walked the dog down to the park to play with some other dogs, made dinner, washed dishes, looked for my iron to iron my pants for tomorrow, put the pants in the dryer to de-wrinkle them because I couldn’t find my iron, and watched The Birdcage. If that doesn’t sound like a jam-packed day of awesome, I don’t know what does.
And guess what? Tomorrow = more awesome. I’m going to eat some yogurt for breakfast, grab a Starbucks on the way to a morning meeting in Westbrook, go to work, run with the dog at the supply ponds and then go out on a date with a guy who has promised not to cut my kidneys out and sell them on the black market (you never really know about people you “meet online”).
It’s not that I don’t like babies. Actually, I love them. I like the special stink only a baby has. I like playing with their toys. I like the faces they make when they are sleeping and you poke them. I like how their eyes cross when they eat stuff. I like baby clothes. I like baby oil. I even do an alright job tolerating the whole diaper thing. Really, I think babies are kinda fantastic. You can squeeze them and toss them in the air (if you don’t mind getting puked on once in awhile) and you can even nibble on them. Yeah – babies turn women like me into baby-nibbling zombies.
This is a picture of my Nephew Boo-Boo Baby and me, his AuntE:
Can’t you just hear the groan of “braaaaaains” in the background of that picture?
Seriously, what’s not to love about a chunky little baby? Check out this kid’s cheeks! And his knuckles, don’t you want to chew on them too? How could I resist? And, since he was about 14 months old in this picture, he smelled more like graham crackers and fruit snacks than sour milk – he was just begging to be chewed on a bit….
Boo-Boo Baby is great. I love.love.love the kid. But, I’m not actually ready for a baby of my own yet. Even though I feel the quickening of the biological clock, I’ll still accidentally call pregnancy an STD when I’m talking to my friends about it. It’s just as scary as “the herp” because it’s for life. Trust me, kids don’t just go away after 18 years. Or, if you think they do, they eventually come back – right mom? Emily and Boo-Boo are living with mom right now and I have a life-plan that may involve living in my mother’s basement within the next year. With the beagle, of course.
I’m almost 27, but I anticipate some good baby-making years left in the old uterus. Just not this year….or next year….or, probably the year after that…
I know my body has a deadline….eventually. But some things you just can’t rush. Like feeling grown up enough to have a baby and take good care of it. And feeling ready to teach that baby important things: like how to be a good person, how to be kind and compassionate, how to respect themselves and others, how to be gentle with animals, how to use a toilet, how to talk, how to walk, how to eat things with a fork without losing an eye, how to put the coffee on in the morning so that mommy can hit the snooze button one more time….oh, did I just get ahead of myself again?
And of course, how to get a good jab in here and there: