Where was I?

Sorry about yesterday. Lamesauce, right?

Anyway, where was I?.....

Ok.  So here's the dill, in a proverbial nutshell:

The more time Aaron and I spend around children (all children, well behaved or not, cute as hell or not, related to us or not, babies, toddlers, kindergarteners-6th grade)  The more unsure I become that we should try to have some and the more certain Aaron becomes that we definitely should.

Wild right?  Because it seems especially after a child has been screaming and flipping out, like my 2 year old neice on the airplane to NC (jesusfuckingchrist shootmeinthefaceplease!), I turn to him, expect him to finally see the light and go: "Yeah, let's not and say we did" (oooh, how very Edward Albee of us).  But instead I say something to the effect of:  "Are you SURE you want to do this???"  And he looks at me, completely confident and goes:  "Oh, yes, absolutely."

Yikesaroni. 

For those of you who don't know, Aaron and I generally inhabit the same page on most every single thing.  So far the main things that we don't see eye to eye on are as follows:

My level of driving skills\ability. (This includes parking)
Whether or not Ketchup should be stored in the pantry or the refregerator.
Which of the Original Trilogy is the best Star Wars Film.
The idea that I'm a competant human being and an adequate teacher (He votes Yes to both, most days I'm a 'nay' vote!)
Whether or not I am beautiful. (See above parenthetical)
Our liklihood of traveling the world and visiting the exotic locales we dream of seeing ere long.
The possibility of going Vegan

So that's it.  And I had to scrape the barrell on those folks.  We don't disagree alot, at least not on important stuff.  There will be some movies and comedians that he likes that I don't and vice versa, but really?  Nothing big.

And could there be a bigger, more fundamental issue for a married couple than "kids?  Or no Kids?"  (That was meant to sound like Howie Mandel from Deal, or Nor Deal... so re-read it if necessary and insert proper tone and inflection for full comedic effect. thx!)

Also, I've wanted kids with this man since I was, um, thirteen.  Wanted a big ole ragamuffin family of eccentircs and oddballs, bohemians and banana sandwiches.  I've been waiting for our life to begin for so long it hurts to think about it.  Waiting to meet our little girl with Aaron's huge slate gray eyes, waiting to lay a kiss on a freckle-faced little boy's cheek and tell him it's ok to love who you love.  I've been waiting for halloween pumpkin carvings and report cards and gamenights and chocolate milk.  Waiting for english muffin pizza nights and children's museums and dance lessons and impossible questions.  I've been looking forward to hearing him sing nonsense lullabies at three am, to 'i spy' on long road trips, to sprinklers and bandaids, and bikes, and bedtime stories.

What I would rather avoid is all the reality. All the shitty, awful, life-sucking torments of being a parent.  The lack of sleep.  The lack of alone time.  The constant cleaning, the ceaseless needs that demand to be met.  The whining.  The tantrums.  The fights.  The temper.  The money we don't have.  The selflessness.  The rivalry for my husband's affection and attention.  The worry, all the time worrying and stressing and fretting and angsting.  The responsibility--and that's a huge one.

Am I doing this right?  Am I responding the right way?  Am I fucking them up for life?  Which book is right on this?  Should I listen to my mother? (Probably never, ladies, probably never on that one.)

Ugh.

The thing of it is, as much as I've always felt I was put on this world to be a Mom, evidence would lead me to contrary conclusions.  I'm not patient, I'm not especially nice or kind or warm.  I'm less than maternal and am more likely to tell a child "I don't care" than actually give a shit about their little dramas.  When they get tired I get bitchy.  When I get tired?  I'm a monster.  I hate cleaning up after people, I detest bodily functions (oh my GOD! new parents become suddenly very comfortable discussing scatalogical anecdotes and the like, and I still can't even say the word 'fart' out loud!  EEEK!), I am CLUMSY as all get-out, and I'm not super tolerant of people disagreeing with me; especially little assholes who don't know their asses from their elbows and would do well to listen to my advice\instructions.

And I honestly like my life with Aaron.  We've been in this together for 13 years.  That's a long time.  We like eachother, we work well together, we have alot of fun and don't necessarily feel that something is missing.  EXCEPT this kids issue keeps springing up, like a spectre, like a placemarker; COMING SOON...

But I'd kinda like to see what it feels like to make the decision, to say:  No, we don't want kids and we don't plan on having any.  I have this suspicion that it would free me up, take this pressing burden off my shoulders and allow me to breath, relax, and ease into the life of a woman with fewer worries, less panic about time and aging and life-deadlines.  And we could think seriously about travel.  And not stress so much about when we can get a house (I fucking love our apartment, truth be told).  And not care so much about where or if we move away from MA (If we plan on haviing kiddies, we are planting the roots in the best stae there ever was, but if there is no possibility of that, well, hell, we can go ANYWHERE!).

But here's the rub.  Or some of the rub.  Have you met Aaron?  Oh.  Well, he'd pretty much perfect, and moreover, he would be the most incredible dad.  He's a natural.  He's fabulous and wonderful and it seems like he was pretty much born to be a dad and oneday a pretty hilarious granddad.

He's patient (almost infinitely so, almost inhumanly so), he's warm, he's funny, he's intelligent, he's giving and selfless and ready for anything.  He's unendingly creative, inventive, resourceful, resilient and even-tempered.  He can solve any problem, fix any disaster, tackle and mountain, meet every challenge, and all of this he can do with a genui9ne smile and that good-humored laugh and somehow make you feel like it was never as black as it seemed afterall.

He's like the pied piper, too.  At work, he doesn't have to insinuate himself into a group of kids and try to engage them in some activity.  Instead, he just starts doing something and within minutes he has a flock of frickin kids clamboring to be involved, desperate to be part of whatever Mr. Waite is up to.

They love him.  And Like him.  and Look up to him.  As they should.  He's the best.

So imagine my guilt whenever I entertain the notion of not having any!  And this is different from finding out that we CAN'T have any for medical reasons, because he would be an Angel about that, I have no doubts whatsoever.  In that case we'd likely discuss adoption-- which is something we'd like to try to work out whether or not we're biologically able to produce our own.  (See, he's so goddamn good and wonderful!)

But imagine just saying: NAH, when you have a perfect father in the making, a big heart and a willingness to put up with the shit and the hassle and the thanklessness and the mood swings and the sleeplessness and the problems after problems after problems.

I feel like a total asshole.

And infinitely unworthy.

He doesn't make me feel like that, I should make that clear.  He is largely patient with my sudden retreat from parenthood.  And apparently unshakeably confident that in one form or another we will become parents and we'll be good at it.

His confidence has a calming effect on me.  But doesn't convince.

We fly home today.  With alot to think about.

I turn 27 on monday.  Fuck that proverbial clock, and fuck these heartstrings that pull at the sight of a little ginger kid, or at the sound of my neice's gleeful laughter or at the feeling of an infant sleeping in my arms.

And fuck being a libra, which seems to mean a constant state of indecision, back-and-forth, and weighing the hypothetical outcomes.

See you back in massachusetts.