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Now that I’m married the big question asked by nearly everyone is So when’s the baby coming? 

I’m also three days away from turning a year older which prompts the Time is ticking away…statement too.

I’d say fuck off, but sadly both of those statements are coming from my mothers lips.

There was a time where the idea of having a baby was all I could think about. Oh, cute round, chubby faces. Big unknowing eyes. Small, tight-gripping fingers. Amazing! Luckily, I had a friend who shared this same quest with me. My friend Caraballo and I would sit, in our then one bedroom apartments, mulling over a future that couldn’t come quick enough. From the moment we hit 30, it was all we could talk about get married and have babies. We were both on the same page, have three kids and live close to each other and our families. After all, it takes a village. And we were going to make sure we had just that.

The beauty was that we weren’t the sort of girls who had never been near small children so we over dramatised the fantasy. Nope, Caraballo has a butt load of nieces and nephews that she always saw. And I had the triplets. We were aware of the hard truth and still couldn’t wait for the day…aw that golden day!

Luckily, the universe is kind. I met Burs and Caraballo met her man Oviol. We were matched at the same time and by some miracle on the same track. I got engaged. Then so was she. Sure, we now live at a great distance but it worked out to be happening in tandem. Brilliant!

But then I got a call from her – she’s pregnant! Funnily, her opening to tell me this happy happy news was So how long do you think you’ll be waiting before you get pregnant? I was still in the beginning of wedding planning mode that I couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea of having a baby. But at the time I’m sure I said Right after the wedding! 

Thrilled for my close friend, I began to mull over the idea of me with child. The situation has changed. I know longer live  eight blocks away from her. Or a borough away from my brother and his wife. My parents are older. And growing slower with each passing year. That village I spoke of — that village is now on the other side of the Atlantic. Then I began to really look at babies. Look at them, listen to them, see them. And not just babies but kids of all ages. How they interacted with each parent, other kids, strangers and the world. I also began to read different blogs written by parents. And talked to actual parents. While watching Burs and lil Burs’ relationship closely, letting the realisation slowly wash over me.

I really don’t think I really want this.

Sure, kids cry a lot – and I adore silence. They’re dirty – where I like tidy. And they look forward to each new day – where I prefer to sleep in. But over all, the thing that has me on the fence is that – I like my life being my own. My whole life my mom would always make comments about how I must think I’m the boss of her. ‘Oh that crazy mom’ I always thought but watching lil Burs talk and interact with her dad, it’s completely evident. A child thinks they are the boss of their parents. They run you. When you decide to have a kid, you are bringing someone in that will literally be ordering you around.

It starts when they’re babies of course. Every little squeak, roll, movement – a parent checks to make sure that their every need is being met. So of course, the kid grows figuring you are there, your sole existence, is to be at their beck and call.

Here’s a piece from a writer on Jezebel:

“Babies are like bunny rabbits at an art gallery opening. They demand a well-catered platter of adorable, varied snacks so they can nibble and graze while doing whimsical things of subjective merit. That time you said you would just buy a big regular version of the snack and divide it up into snack-size portions later to save money was totes hilar.  “More applesauce!” it demands while watching cartoons, so you haul out the vat and spoon it into the beast’s mouth directly, take your lashings, then stagger back to the servant’s quarters to wait for the bell to be rung again. Thirty seconds pass. “More Gato Hat!” it cries. At least the Spanish immersion is working. “MORE GATO HAT!” Sigh. Good thing you took your ibuprofen and paid that Netflix subscription.”

Though funny (I laugh out loud at these articles) it has made me a bit reserved. That next step is one you cannot go back on. Yes, yes, if I’m told one more time it’ll be different when you experience it, I’ll hurl a bag of snacks at someones head. It’s just one of those things where you better commit to it like you really mean it. And right now, I’m far to wishy-washy to be all that sure. So instead, I’m waiting. And watching. And researching. While being fully aware that time is not on my side. I’m thrilled to see pics of my good friend Caraballo get bigger and rounder as she gets closer to her due date (which, if she’s lucky will be on my birthday). Thrilled that, unlike me, she was ready to sign her life over to another human being. And a demanding one at that! I hope, she too, will give me priceless advice and stories to help me make this incredibly tough decision.

So, I will celebrate my upcoming birthday (as if it will be my last) the way I’d like – by sleeping in, going to a quiet museum, enjoying an R-rated film and eating Doritoes and Chocolate all day (well, until lil Burs comes home from school, since there is a kid already altering my life). Because someday my birthday will just be another day of running around making sure I have enough applesauce to keep the boss of me happy.

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