I guess I forgot to mention why I have Baby on the Brain. Several times over the past few holidays family members have asked if we were going to start a family. We've been married now for almost four years. I guess in this day age, even, people still expect you to start popping them out immediately.
My problems extend far beyond financial. I really don't like children. I know that I would feel differently about my own if I were to have them, but I don't feel that a set of ovaries automatically grants me the ability to be a mother, and especially not a good one. I'm also petrified of the idea of giving birth. For some reason, people enjoy recounting theirs and their friends'/family members' horror stories of breech and backward births, torn uteri, diastasis, 72-hour labors, extensive hemmorhaging, and taking a crap right as it happens in a room full of strangers. Absolutely horrifying, all of it.
I also don't like the idea of being pregnant for almost 10 months (I recently found out is not, in fact, just 9 months), hemmorhoids, swollen feet and ankles, loss of bladder control, morning sickness (throwing up is, by far, my absolute least favorite thing to do in the entire universe).
Not to mention staying up all night, colicky babies, screaming, poop-filled diapers . . . The list goes on and on. No more restaurants, no more going out the bars, nothing but Barney and Disney movies 24/7.
This is why a person like me has serious doubts about having children. The cons are limitless and the pros don't extend beyond how cute the clothes are, not having a period for almost a year, and seeing what the little rugrat looks like. Will it be hairy, cute, look like me or Charlie? Then again, would it end up hating me? Rebelling by becoming a right-wing conservative Christian? Would the dogs try to eat it? Would I end up carting children to soccer games in a gas-guzzling SUV or mini-van?
Or am I just trying to talk myself out of this ticking biological clock? The biggest concerns I have is that a.) I'll wake up one day, be going through menopause, and realize I missed out on something or b.) I'll wake up one day, the kid is twelve, and I'll realize I missed out on trips to Europe, backpacking around the world, skydiving, or even just getting my undergraduate degree.
Man, I am confused.