I was at a baby shower this weekend.
Let me rephrase that: I was at a baby shower/dinner party/shindig/gathering of the year/feast extraordinaire this weekend. Our good friends are expecting their first baby in March, and I got to spend the evening on Saturday celebrating them and their probably/most definitely best/most awesome baby of 2016 baby.
I mean, come on, a gift teepee?! Genius.
I mean, come on, a gift teepee?! Genius.
Insert a paragraph here about how beautiful and amazing and fabulous and to-die-for everything at the shower was. Ellen, I'm hiring out your friends (a.k.a. profesh party planners) when I am pregnant one day!
And actually, that right there ^^^ that's what I want to talk about. When I am pregnant one day.
I spend a lot of time thinking about babies. Not because I feel my ovaries whispering, Eeeeeeemily, where's your baaaaaaaby?, but because that's just something someone who wants kids in the future and has always wanted kids thinks about. Just like some people think about pizza a lot because they've always liked pizza and plan on continuing to like pizza (I think I fall into that category as well...).
If you had asked a young Emily what her future looked like she probably would have said something about dancing a lot (I think she meant on a stage and not in her kitchen, but whatevs), and that she wanted a brood of children and she wanted to start having that brood young. Now, don't get me wrong, I never wanted to be the next 16 & Pregnant star, but I just always imagined having my kids early on and being done with the brood by the time I was 30.
Ugh, Young Emily, you are so funny.
Really though, trust me guys, Young Emily was a hoot. ;)
Being done? By 30? Birthing 3 to 4 (or heck! Let's add in #5 for funsies) kids before I turned 30?
Have you ever sat down and done baby math before? Like x+y = making a baby. Then divide that by z and you get the nine months to grow the baby. Then add a, b, & c and you'll find the number of months it takes your body to recover from the Great Birth Event (where you poop on the table and don't you dare tell me otherwise. I can see through your lies), and somewhere in there you have to add in the # of months/weeks/years you go without sleep and then...
Well, and then you end up with me being a lot older than 30 when I'm popping out that last little Ricky Jr. My b. We obviously will have to call him Lil' Ricky and not Ricky Jr.
Here's what little Big Ricky looked like. Read: here's why I have to have fifty children.
Ugh, 'scuse me, but I totally forgot the math part about adding or subtracting or multipli-viding the years I want all of Ricky's lurve for me and me only. Selfish? You bet your bottom dollar.
My point is that maybe I shouldn't spend so much time thinking about babies. Because I'm not very good at math, I'm easily stressed out, and when you start to think about it for too long you/I get scared.
The same scary feeling you feel when you look down and realize you ate an entire box of pizza. Hashtag my stomach hurts.
But I guess what my REAL point is is that being at this beautiful shower on Saturday and being surrounded by beautiful moms and moms-to-be made me realize that you know what? Screw it. Doing the math isn't worth it. Stressing out about the timeline isn't worth it. Trying to plan my life down to the second isn't worth it. Worrying about pooping while giving birth
isn't is worth it. Because at the end of the day I know that I want our Weiss/wise brood of children, I want to snuggle the shiz out of them, I want to include them in on the kitchen dance parties, and 30 is just a number and/or a hot, fabulous, young age. An age that I can rock with or without having children or starting to have children or finishing having children.
My brain hurts from all that math. Time for some breakfast.
I'm off to snuggle the shiz out of Ricky some more and enjoy not having a brood of children running around just yet. And that's a-okay because they'll be here eventually (way down the road so calm down, Dad).