I went to California this weekend and despite delayed planes, airsickness, overcharged rental cars, bruises, sore muscles, a zit on my chin and several new gray hairs, it was all worth it.
Because I got to play with this baby:
She is my baby cousin and I want to squeeze her all day, every day. I hadn't met her before this weekend because I live a bascrillion miles from the rest of my family, but as soon as I saw her I wanted to cry and cry and kiss her feet. I have been off the Baby Wagon for a while now, but this little lovely is making me reconsider.
Just look at her:
She even got me to put down my glass of chardonnay:
If you look really closely, you might actually be able to see my biological clock throbbing. Soon after the pictures were taken it lept from my body, hog-tied me to the nearest chair, and threw BabyGap onesies at me until I agreed to have a baby. A cute one.
Edited to add a somewhat interesting coda to my baby-mania above. Well, interesting only in the sense that it's a little glimpse into my obsessive mind, as well as an example of the brute force possessed by whatever synapse or gene allows me to daydream. See, my period is never, never late. Early sometimes, but never late. But this weekend it occured to me that I was late. And that I had been having PMS symmtoms for over a week - bloated, emotional, weight gain, etc. This morning I woke up and it still hadn't come. So I let myself imagine that what if - what if?? - I was pregnant. I mean, I'm 29 and married, so the blinding fear that used to come with a missed period was gone. And at the risk of talking waaaaayyy too much about my Lady Parts, I stopped taking the Pill last year, and have been using our old friend, the condom, since. And it's not unheard of for one to slip past the goalie, right? So this morning, in the span of about twenty minutes (roughly the time from when I stepped into the shower until I started getting dressed), I convinced myself I was pregnant.
Initially, I felt panic. I mean, I gave up a big chunck of salary last year and am earning no where near what I was. Kent is about to go back to school full-time. We have a wild little puppy. Now is not a good time. But then. But then...why not? What is a good time? Why not? I'm not getting any younger. Why not? Why not? And just like that, I fell in love with the idea. Worse, I fell in love with our future child. It all made sense, why I've been struggling to find a new job, establish a career. It was time. I had spent the weekend with the gorgeous baby above, and spent a lot of time talking with her mom (my aunt) about motherhood and feminism and careers and family, and it all made sense. It's something I think about a lot independent of an actual child, but suddenly, I felt brave and excited and whole and mature and strong and scared and excited. It made sense to me. Finally things made sense.
So of course, right about the time I felt pure and unbridled joy creeping up on me, I went to the bathroom and sure enough, no baby. Period.