Remember that one?
Maybe you weren't like me, but I definitely went through a phase or two where I swore I'd never have children. The planet was too messed up. I didn't feel grown up enough myself. The economy was a disaster. Et cetera. Perhaps these things are all still true, and yet here I am, now just seven months away from being a real live daderoo.
There comes that time where you have to make the call, presuming life hasn't already made it for you. It might be a cliche, but for us it had a lot to do with a certain tick, tock you begin to hear around thirty. I can't quite put my finger on it, but somebody must have come up with a name for this phenomenon. Baby crazy time? Uterus clock? Yeah, that sounds right.
The choice seems so definite now, but then again, when my wife and I had a bit of a scare earlier in the pregnancy, we agreed that we could always take a few years and try to adopt when we were forty or so. It would be nice to have our thirties clear. I have always pictured, at some point in my life, writing a novel in Spain, drinking lots of red wine, and just soaking in the Mediterranean from a serene, white villa. Were there always kids in this picture? Perhaps no, but I can picture it now. It'll just have to be a novel full of characters with short attention spans. I don't think I could bring myself to write a kids' book, but you never know.
In all seriousness, though, it's amazing how many realities we live within a single life. When I was a twenty year old young man, just moving out of my parents house for the first time (well before I moved back in at thirty-four), I could have never imagined that I'd be looking forward to having my own son or daughter. I am the same person I was them but I am also a completely different one. Life's floors me.
That about wraps it up for this week. Sorry about the writing vacation yesterday, but I had some other pressing projects that didn't afford me the time to post. Hope you have a glorious Friday and a wonderful, fulfilling (or at least vaguely relaxing) weekend!
Maybe you weren't like me, but I definitely went through a phase or two where I swore I'd never have children. The planet was too messed up. I didn't feel grown up enough myself. The economy was a disaster. Et cetera. Perhaps these things are all still true, and yet here I am, now just seven months away from being a real live daderoo.
There comes that time where you have to make the call, presuming life hasn't already made it for you. It might be a cliche, but for us it had a lot to do with a certain tick, tock you begin to hear around thirty. I can't quite put my finger on it, but somebody must have come up with a name for this phenomenon. Baby crazy time? Uterus clock? Yeah, that sounds right.
The choice seems so definite now, but then again, when my wife and I had a bit of a scare earlier in the pregnancy, we agreed that we could always take a few years and try to adopt when we were forty or so. It would be nice to have our thirties clear. I have always pictured, at some point in my life, writing a novel in Spain, drinking lots of red wine, and just soaking in the Mediterranean from a serene, white villa. Were there always kids in this picture? Perhaps no, but I can picture it now. It'll just have to be a novel full of characters with short attention spans. I don't think I could bring myself to write a kids' book, but you never know.
In all seriousness, though, it's amazing how many realities we live within a single life. When I was a twenty year old young man, just moving out of my parents house for the first time (well before I moved back in at thirty-four), I could have never imagined that I'd be looking forward to having my own son or daughter. I am the same person I was them but I am also a completely different one. Life's floors me.
That about wraps it up for this week. Sorry about the writing vacation yesterday, but I had some other pressing projects that didn't afford me the time to post. Hope you have a glorious Friday and a wonderful, fulfilling (or at least vaguely relaxing) weekend!
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