I’m at the point in my life when I have a lot of friends who either have or are in the process of having kids. It’s good to have all the rugrats racing about and I have to admit that there isn’t a bad one in the bunch. This speaks well of the parenting skills of my friends. Considering all the whiny, selfish, spoiled, self-absorbed children I see elsewhere it also goes a long way to help restore my faith in the future of humanity.
Spending time with your friends’ kids is like hearing a commercial for the lottery: it always gets you to work through the “what if…” scenarios in your mind. Children are born, named, raised and sent off into the world in the blink of an eye. No mess, no fuss, no sleepless nights or expensive orthodontist bills.
I’ve always held the idea that someday I’ll have children. A house, 2 car garage, dog. The whole sitcom-typical nuclear family a’la the Cosbys. That’s success, right? That’s what life is all about.
Lately though I’ve been thinking, “Eh, whatever” when the idea of having children comes up. It’s not that I don’t want them; it’s just not a goal or focus. If/when it happens it happens. In the meantime I’m really enjoying life for the first time and I’d rather like for that to continue for a while.
“But…but…you’re thirty four!” many of you will say while tapping the imaginary biological wristwatch you’re not wearing. For you, I applaud your math skills. Yes, I am thirty four. Almost thirty five, but since you’re keeping count you obviously know that already. I’m also very healthy, fit and have a solid faith in medical science and therefore have no doubt that when I want to have a child there will be no problem in doing so.
In the meantime, I intend to enjoy myself.