Everyone and their dogs are having babies right now. I'm sure it's just the age that I'm at, (gruesomely close to 35) but it seems like everyone I know and love are spitting out mini replicas of their combined DNA. In a 2 year span, we counted about 15 babies and there are more to come.
Then there the chosen handful of those of us not spurting forth from our wombs. The BARREN.
Okay, okay. We're not barren. Necessarily. I mean, nothing's confirmed. But the possibilities are endless.
When you're watching all your peers with their precious little bundles of drool and boogers or you're seeing your friends about ready to burst, it's a little disconcerting knowing it's not you.
I am thrilled to spend time with my friends and their babies. I love to steal the little imps from the warmth of their parent's arms so I can kiss and snuggle and zerburt their cheeks. I love to talk about babies, plan about babies, hear stories about babies. However, it all just makes one thing abundantly clear:
I NEED A BABY.
Now, the world will not end if I don't have one. I will still have the love of The Guy and the dog. That's pretty cool. Also, I'm pretty sure if I don't get babies, I will get more dogs! How can this be a bad thing?
Our chances of procreation are along the lines of the "It's Complicated" option on Facebook. It will be an interesting and bizarre journey (a word I hate unless it's talking about the awesome 80s band, but I am lacking for an alternative) which may or may not end up with a rug rat or two.
In the meantime, I will play with other people's babies and secretly judge their parenting skills.
Okay, maybe not so secretly.