Living, Breathing Birth Control

Last night I hung out with my friend Mama B, who in the last year got married and had a baby, all at the age of 25. In case you were wondering (and you probably were) the wedding definitely came first. But we’re pretty sure she was already a little pregnant under the chuppah and that’s why should couldn’t seem to lose that last five pounds right before the Big Day. So now she has a husband, a child, and a lot more things to worry about than most 25-year-olds I know.

To her credit, she’s doing a damn good job of handling it all. She actually said to me “I wasn’t ready for this,” but when she spoke those words she did so without the slightest hint of regret. Still…as adorable as her daughter is, this whole situation scares the absolute shit out of me. Here I am, at 27, just starting to maybe, possibly, figure out who I am. At 25, she pretty much needed to have that part figured out, since she's complicated the scenario by adding “wife” and “mother” to her psychological inventory.

Right now I should probably tell you that I have little to no experience with children. I’m an only child so there were never any kid brothers or sisters running around. I was never a big fan of babysitting. I didn’t have any younger cousins that lived nearby until I was about twelve, and by that point I had little interest in, and perhaps even a bit of contempt for, the infants that were inevitably going to get a cut of Grandma’s Birthday Money Fund.

So last night was sort of a new experience for me when I stopped by the condo where she lives with her husband. The place pretty much looks like a baby war zone; think Sarajevo with stuffed animals. For such a little thing, the girl sure does have a lot of crap. Like I said, I’ve never been one to fawn over kids. Thus when Baby’s Daddy offered to let me hold her I pretty much responded “Uh………okay. How do I do that?” He put this wiggly little creature in my arms and immediately started to laugh. He called to his wife and pointed out that of every woman who has held the baby so far, I definitely looked the most uncomfortable and out of place. He said some guys even seemed more at ease than I did. I told him to shut the hell up or I’d drop his kid. Just kidding. I didn’t say that, but I was so scared to death that I might accidentally do so that I held onto that thing like I do my Gucci purse on the subway.

She yawned and looked up at me with her big, blue eyes and, I’m not sure whether or not Mama B saw this, but I swear to God my own eyes got a little wet. I don’t know why. I’m still trying to figure it out. Maybe it’s because in seeing their little nuclear family function, I realized how far away I am from anything resembling that situation. In a way, that’s a good thing. About 9 months ago, not long after The Ex, I dated a guy that I call Gatsby, mostly because he likes to have big parties at his VERY big house, like the character in F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel. And at 38, my Gatsby had an audibly ticking biological clock. Though we didn’t date for very long, we definitely talked about what we each wanted in the future and he, plain and simple, wanted lots of kids. He came from a big family and that was just how they did things. But I couldn’t seem to wrap my mind around that at the time. Sure he was an awesome guy, we had a lot of fun together, I loved his house, and I loved his parties. But if he was in the market for a baby vessel, then I was definitely not the girl for him. Of course, at the time that made me wonder…would I ever be that girl?

I think that I want kids someday. I don’t know that for sure, but I feel that with the right guy, I’m going to want to have his babies. In watching Mama B and Baby’s Daddy work together, you could tell their seven-and-a-half year dating history certainly helped the cohesiveness of the parenting partnership. So that just further convinces me that when I do finally settle down with someone and start procreating, I better make damn sure it’s with the right person and that I’m in it for the long haul. I believe that if I had gone that route with The Ex or, God forbid, Poor Bastard, I would’ve ended up with a form of postpartum depression so terrible they could’ve named it after me. So until I’m absolutely, positively sure I’ve found the one whose kid I’m willing to carry around inside of my body for awhile, I’m going to do everything in my power to remain without child. My current state of abstinence is certainly a good start.

Mama B’s baby is cute as hell and I’m so happy it’s working out for her. To have a husband she loves and a beautiful child to show for it is a wonderful thing that I really do hope I get to experience someday. But when that little mouth let out the world’s biggest scream last night, I have to admit that it just made me want to pick up condoms and/or get a hysterectomy as soon as The Celibacy Project ends, if not sooner.

xo