My best friend has a goddamn cute baby…and she makes the world turn for everyone around her. Sure, she was a little funny looking in her first few months but NOW…holy shit. Cutest. Baby. Ever. I digress. Let’s start at the beginning…
Once upon a time, I befriended a future army wife (K) who actually befriended ME in a secret mission to keep me away from her boyfriend who wanted to date me. Open relationships are weird. I still stand by that. But to each his/her own (and I do mean that whole heartedly…this will be a future entry for sure…). So, in a strange stream of events which included me swearing I would never befriend a woman who thought flicking men in the balls was a beneficial maneuver to kicking men in the balls…I became best friends with the craziest and most lovable woman in the world. Truth. Going on 15 years now. I am either certifiable…or, more likely, have found that balls do not define the relationships of feminist women at their peak. On with the story.
This very fantastic female of mine (can I claim her?) went on to marry and decided to produce spawn. The non-Alien kind…though, I’m not sure that’s a thing. And need I remind you…Cutest. Baby. Ever. Here’s the thing. She was always supposed to have babies AFTER me. I was the “milk and cookies” mom, who wasn’t actually a mom and always should have been. She was the slightly damaged “abortions are ok if you have them for the right reason” mom, who was always going to have babies AFTER me. My how reality changes things. Fast forward a decade or so....
After a weekend of convincing K to just chill out and have fun at this festival we flew out to attend, I was bombarded with a series of positive pregnancy tests via text. It’s probably my fault if this child is learning disabled. I honestly DO feel bad about that....but at the same time, she had been told by her doctor that she absolutely would NOT be able to have children naturally with her double-amputee, veteran husband....and that was devastating. I was just trying to be helpful. Whoops. Turns out they had a totally amazing, perfectly wonderful, best-of-the-best baby…and I was left in their dust. Fast forward to married me.
Broke up with the ex of years. Dated his best friend…I mean EX’S best friend…not CURRENT boyfriend’s best friend…is this soap-opera confusing yet? Great. I’m succeeding. And I’m totally in love. For the first time, I understand what it means to put work into a relationship while also being entirely content in it. It’s not perfect…but it’s perfect for us. We also want kids. Here’s the problem: I’m a teacher. The end.
Ok ok. I’ll expand if I must. Where my younger years were spent entirely unaware of what tiny human beings actually WERE, my older years have been CONSUMED by exactly that. It’s hard to CHOOSE that, once you know exactly what you’re getting into. Still, I know I want this. I know I want to be the parent who is totally pissed off about their child’s math score because math is just dumb these days (I can say that as a math teacher.). I know I want to be the parent who calls their teacher for ridiculous shit, like finding their kid friends at recesss because they just aren’t socially aware enough themselves to do it alone. I know I want to be the parent who obsessses over music classes when they probably just want to play Fruit Ninja. Whatever. Fruit ninja those ivories, Tiny Spawn. Let’s do this!
And here we are. BFF: 1. Me: 0. WTF, World?! Without further stalling, here’s the announcement. We are officially trying as of next week. I am terrified....and am not used to wanting to puke, besides alcohol overload. At the same time, I am incredibly intrigued and excited. I don’t think I’m going to be a “milk and cookies mom”, but I think I’ll have the same affect. My whole life has been built on how things “should be”. Full circle to why I love K so much. She has rescued me from that. And even when I say ridiculous things to her like “OMG! I might have to be pregnant during a bachelorette party!” while she’s dealing with possible infertility…she’s there. We’re there for each other. Life is not about what’s right and what’s wrong. What’s good and what’s bad. What’s acceptable and what’s not. It’s about understanding that those things change, depending on who you are where you are when you are....and that what’s right for you, may not be right for everyone (or anyone) else.
Amen. I mean, The End.
Loading comments...