Because I am not very discreet about my personal life, it’s no secret that my sister just had a baby last week. I flew up to meet him on Friday (for those who did not see my constant Twitter updates about this excursion), and instantly fell in love, like a teenage girl with the bad boy who will treat her like a horrible piece of meat.
How could you not love a face like this?
I am no different from most other women in that I am putty in a tiny human’s hands. As a nanny for three small children for about seven years, you have to develop some capacity for liking kids to choose that profession for such a length of time.
Along with this skill set, I also have a bit of a knack for dealing with children of most ages. My breathtaking immaturity has something to do with it – kids can sense when they’re speaking with one of their peers instead of an adult just feigning interest in the original Star Wars trilogy. I was better than a peer, actually, because I could drive them to the park and operate the oven whenever they wanted to bake cookies.
So, the big question everyone’s been asking lately – has my sister’s child set off my biological clock?
In a word, of course. Wait, that’s two words.
It’s slowly been winding up in the year since getting married. I know, I’m almost thirty, why hasn’t baby-fever ignited before now? Well, frankly I’ve been too busy getting my life together for the past, oh, decade, and I’ve only this last year been in a place with any kind of stability. It’s a good thing I didn’t try to procreate when I was going through rehab or grad school. Those were some of my better life choices.
Even now, I don’t have baby fever necessarily. More like baby-mild-seasonal-allergies. After nannying for so many years, I know exactly how much work children entail. They also are inhibitors of travel, of which I haven’t done nearly enough at this point in my life. Plus, I’ve only just started pursuing a career in the field of my choice and so far have not yet experienced any degree of success, so there are still plenty of factors and unattained goals in my life distracting me from potential motherhood.
But yes, I am completely aware of how much my fertility will decrease in two months, when I cross the threshold of doom and my built-in equipment starts to malfunction. If I’m going to catch this train, I’m going to need to hop on board in the next few years.
If I knew I would never need to go back to work after having children, that I could just write on the side and drink lattes all day while planning Alice in Wonderland-themed birthday parties for my daughter* (of course I already know I’m having a girl), I’d probably be more inclined to start sooner. However, the idea of needing to go back to an office job and being a mother and writing on the side? I am in touch with reality enough to know that my writing career will quickly spiral into oblivion, leaving me depressed and unfulfilled and depressed and probably a horrible mother. So I’m struggling towards a goal that’s vital to all involved’s happiness.
But yes, I do want a little baby, very much. In fact, as I’m preparing to leave my
baby nephew I’ve been distracting myself with poetry written by kittens.
I love my human master
She feeds me regularly
So I won’t pee on her bed
Kittens are almost the same as babies, right? I’ll be okay…
…for awhile, at least.