Friends with Kids

Full disclosure:  Our friends with children are amazing parents, successful human beings and an all around joy to spend time with. Any accidental expression of the contrary in the following is the express mistake of my editor, MB, who will not ever read this and therefore can be blamed for all things that upset my readers.

Last Friday night was one of the rare nights this summer that MB and I weren’t smashing all our worldly possessions into the back of our old lady colored Hudanyi and zipping around the Eastern seaboard.  Confused about what to do with all the extra time on our hands we clicked over to the movie section of our Apple TV and picked the first movie that had nothing to do with sex with pies or the over glorification of Jonah Hill’s manorexia.

Friends with Kids started out to be a hilarious, honest look at the complexities of being married to someone, love and maintaining any semblance of a former reality while raising a kid.  Then it took this really awful turn into this super sappy, overly feminine take on neediness and sex.  I loved it and hated it.  MB loved it.   What really struck me throughout the entire movie was that the exposition of that last set of childless people in the room who are not covered in vomit, not fighting tooth and nail with a toddler to eat their dinner and not chuck it, not shooting daggers at their partner and {got forbid} not talking nonstop about junior’s most recent bowel movement when they make the very ill-calculated decision to procreate.  In short, I’m afraid, we too, are going to do something rash.

Let me start by saying that this post was originally to be titled Baby, when? because for a long time I couldn’t move in a ten foot circle without someone demanding to know when MB and I were going to spawn.  It was so frequent that I was lulled into complacency, claiming that, after I completed my marathon bid in May, I’d take the summer off and then we’d start to try in October. {cue terrible record scratching}.

Um, what?

Look, here’s the deal.  I have nothing against our theoretical child:  I actually love babies, I take really excellent care of MB on a day-to-day basis proving I could at least keep the child alive, and it would make our families and friends {and let’s face it MB and I} over the moon with glee to have a tiny baby kicking around.  But when the logistics of said child are thrown in, like where to put Mark Jr. when he comes home from the hospital, as the balcony of our overpriced, 800 square foot apartment would be considered by some child abuse, and how he/she would affect things I really, really like doing {going out to eat, running whenever I feel like it, vacationing with frequency, bathing} never mind who is going to move in with us full time to take care of our child when I  go back to work, I panic.  And then the ol’ baby maker is closed for business.  Again.

But I get over it and start to contemplate maybe just maybe now is the right time {because as EVERY SINGLE ENGLISH SPEAKING PERSON ON THE PLANET LIKES TO REMIND ME:  THERE IS NEVER A RIGHT TIME}.   And then I see Friends with Kids and I’m back not even at square one, but at square minus one hundred.  I’m not sure motherhood is for me.

There are few big reasons that still give me pause, most recently, other than the movie, was the now infamous AM Slaughter article.  This is not going to be a regurgitation or adulation party of the piece by any means, but it did get my gears turning.  Like Gina, I feel like, after some serious soul searching, I don’t WANT to have “it all” like other women.  I think my all is a fabulous career {sort of check}, an amazing husband {check plus} and a fun life full of friends and family we adore {check plus plus}.  I know that these things and having a child are not mutually exclusive in theory and that making it all fit together takes a lot of flexibility, but maybe I want to be rigid about this, to make my own all.  I like being the only person who has no idea what to do with a nipple shield and who still enjoys the blissful ignorance that I too could one day cloth diaper.   I’ve worked my ass off, and maybe I want to enjoy it wailing, vomit and pacifier free for the next five, ten of forty years.

The point I’m trying to make is, I’m not ready to change my life again to just check the kid block, which is what I feel like I have to do right now.  That would be unfair to everyone involved, especially La Marka.  So for now, while we figure it out, slowly, and not, like our similarly childless movie counterparts over multiple shots of tequila, I am happy to be the fun, enthusiastic aunt to so many of our Friends with Kids.

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3 thoughts on “Friends with Kids

  1. ” I take really excellent care of MB on a day-to-day basis proving I could at least keep the child alive” Next time can I get a warning that I will bust out laughing so hard? Those muscles are really painful today and well laughing hurts. 😦 Whatever you and MB decide is right for yinz… well it’s right for yinz.

  2. Amen! Great post!! I appreciate your similar experiences with people with children talking about their kid’s every bowel movement…. I will never understand the need to publicize such information, unless I have a medical emergency themed concern… At which point I would call a pediatrician… Not post about it on Facebook. We also loved our “friends with kids” but I don’t envy any of them in the slightest. In 5 years, I may feel differently, but we’re having too much fun right now, and I’ve worked too hard to further my education, to not be a little selfish for a while longer 🙂

  3. Ugh, I love you!
    You are right not to rush things. I was dragged kicking + screaming into motherhood at thirty something. Mike finally convinced me with scare tactics (old, withering eggs! Dying alone in a nursing home! You get the idea). I cried almost every night of my pregnancy bc I was so scared. I’m not kidding. I went in the bathroom, locked the door, and sobbed because I was terrified. I thought a sinkhole would open in the yard + paint would start peeling off the walls. How could I have a BABY?? And then, I did. And it’s…awesome. Total shock. But, you have to get there on your own. Or not. Whatever you choose will be great, and YOU’LL be great. There are no rules.

    PS: Movies totally exaggerate.

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