I Wipe My Own Butt

For the most part I am an optimistic person.

I see myself as very young at heart, and often times naive.

A couple mornings ago (I say mornings but we're on a partially nocturnal schedules so it was just before noon) we were sitting at our kitchen table and I was all dressed up for work. My husband was in his pjs, but had made us coffee. I was reading the New York Post and drinking coffee and my husband was texting my dad. It was nice. It felt peaceful and sophisticated.

My husband looked up and grinned real big and said, "Look at us, we're like grown ups."

I looked around, we were in our house wearing our wedding rings and sipping coffee before work. All I could think was, "Shit. It's true."

Because the next step is generally kids, right? Ugh. Kids.

I mean, they're great. I love my nieces and my cousins, but I don't want one here running around, crying, and slobbering all the time. I am not ready for that. We don't even have a dog. I had a plant, it died.

While my husband and I have decided to wait, some of our family has already mentioned kids. One of my sister-in-laws has, jokingly, mentions kids to us every now and then. Of course I always giggle when she says it because I am always like, "Who me? A mom?!" The giggle is mostly to smother the panic I feel, I think.

Also, I absolutely love my job and my family, but occasionally both remind me of how awesome it is that my husband and I aren't parents yet. Every now and then kids run around in the lobby and it makes wonder how advanced humanity really is. My beautiful nieces are incredible, but when I stand there talking to my sister and one of them says, "Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Look. Mom. Mom. Look." I think, "Oh, right. This is why children still terrify me."

I am sure one day when we go down that road we will be sufficient parents that will only require a year or so of extensive therapy for our children, but until then I am happy with my clean house and wine, thank you very much.