I never wanted to get married and I never wanted to have kids.
Then I met Joe.
Before I met my husband, I was annoyingly independent. I left home at seventeen and never looked back. I became used to supporting myself and after a handful of horror-story-worthy roommates, I truly learned to appreciate my alone time. I never craved a royal wedding or a white picket fence or perfect stick figure family (you know, those irritating stickers that are plastered on mini-vans across the country? What's with those anyway? "Hey! I'm Sally! Tryna kidnap some kids? Follow me! I have three!" Am I right!?). Plus, the thought of packing on thirty pounds and possibly vomiting every morning just to pop out a screaming little nugget that would destroy my taint and sit in it's own feces gave me nightmares. No thank you.
Joe came around and suddenly I realized how awesome a diamond would look on my left hand and out of nowhere my loins were burning. Seriously. On fire. And I wasn't all burny just because we passed a yeast infection back and fourth that one time...I fell madly in love with this man and needed to make his babies. In my uterus...before it fell out (Google it. IT CAN HAPPEN).
It doesn't help matters that Joe's sister, Dana (you met her in the last couple posts), has the best freaking kids on the planet. Not only are they adorable, they are also HILARIOUS. Brett took a poo on my OCD husband's carpet for God's sake. And don't even get me started with Lexi...that girl is like a never ending episode of "Kids Say The Darndest Things" (the uncensored version). It was game-over the minute I met them. Kids? SIGN ME UP.
Joe and I talk about having babies ALL. THE. TIME. We talk about the kind of parents we would be and what our children would look like. Would they play sports like Dad or be giant nerds like Mom? It's only gotten worse now that we're actually married and own our first house. We have the space and we're legally bound to one another so procreating is the obvious next step. Our original plan was to go all "whatever happens, happens" as soon we said, "I do."'
The three main reasons it hasn't "happened" yet are as follows:
1. We're selfish (We have so much on our life to-do list that wouldn't be possible if we were constantly buying nursing pads, hemorrhoid cream and poop catchers. I think it's actually QUITE responsible of us to build a deck and redecorate and travel to the Virgin Islands...you know, get it out of our system before we surrender all of our income to the Huggie corporation.)
2. I'm still looking for a full-time job (Although I'm currently working a 40 hour work week, my job title is TECHNICALLY not considered full-time. It's the company I work for's way of saying, "We're a billion dollar organization and we really need you...but not enough to give you any benefits or sense of security. Take your college education and go make me some photocopies." Until I land a job with maternity leave, sick time, and a retirement plan...my loins will live to burn another day.)
3. We're totally broke (As a result of numbers 1 and 2.)
Although the stars haven't quite aligned for our baby makin' journey, I still think about it constantly. I look forward to the hemorrhoids and morning sickness and spit-up soaked clothing and poopy diapers. Plus, not bleeding and having to buy tampons for nine months sounds like a fabulous vacation for my vagina. If seventeen year old Lauren saw twenty-four year old Lauren, she would probably be disgusted....but she blew fifty grand on one year of college just to become a part-time receptionist so WHAT DOES SHE KNOW ANYWAY?