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Blogging about gardening in zone 4, marriage, our golden retriever and life in general.

Sunday, August 15, 2010


We've been married  over a month now. Guess what? Not much is different. Come home, get the dog spayed, and face the mountains of paperwork, email, phone messages, and oh yeah, wedding crap in piles in the office. The piles o'wedding crap bug me, but I'm not quite motivated enough yet to deal with them.

In the month we've been married, I've been questioned at least 10 times with "so when are you going to have kids". To the point where my sister is telling me that I'll have a baby or be pregnant in the next year.

Gretch: seriously, I love you, but stop telling me when I will or will not push a damn cantaloupe out of my who-haa!!! It's my vagina and we'll use a goalie when I want to!

Ahem. People. Let's think about this here. We've been married a month. As in, I still haven't even designed, ordered, written, addressed or sent a damn thank you yet. I don't need to get knocked up and start another registry.

And the older I get, the more I realize what a big fucking deal having a kid is. Like, we barely have disposable income anyway... I'm not ready to add $700 a month in daycare alone. Let's face it, I'm still to selfish; with my time, with my money, and with my sleep (DJ's beer brewing dreams notwithstanding).

That said, there is an AOII baby boom happening around me this fall. It's the first wave of mass baby-makin', uterus-stretching, can't-drink-for-like-a-year, a shit ton of people are having kids. I've got friends having babies in September, November, December, January, February and March. And shit, someone else I lived in the Pizzle house with is probaby getting knocked up as I type this. BOOM! And no, I won't be drinking the Kool-Aid at the Homecoming Brunch. That shit is contaminated.

I, on the other hand, will continue to drink my way through the remainder of the wine we bought for our wedding, contemplate the wedding shit in our office, and figure out how to afford grown up bedroom furniture.

I should add here that I'm not trying to be judgemental. My reluctance to have a kid, and my personal uncomfortableness with my friends having kids is only that, well, aren't we still young ourselves? Aren't we still trying to figure out who and what we want to be when we grow up? Isn't the signifier of grown-up-ness having more than $16.94 in our checking accounts at the end of the month, because I'm still never above $50 by the 25th of the month.

That's just me? So you're saying that I'm no longer 19 and we're not going to the Lambda Chi graffiti party next month?

Shit. Pour me another glass of wine.

Edited to add, apparently Beyonce agrees with me.

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