My Impending Doom

I’ve decided that in order to pay homage to the greatest show ever to air on television, Scrubs, I will title all of my blogs in similar episode name fashion, with all of them starting with “My.”

The past two weeks my place of employment has been on a shut down, so I have been at home. The first week I decided to go visit my parents that live right outside of Louisville, KY but I decided to stay home the second week so that I can clean the apartment and generally catch up on some things that have slipped since the wedding because of the general busyness that’s been going on in our lives since then . As result, I have had the luxury of taking little trips out during the day that I would generally never get to do because of being at work. Such as, going to Target and Hobby Lobby. I’ve been working a little on scrapbooking parts of the wedding this week in addition to my cleaning sprees and the occasional look see at reality TV so both of those places have come in handy during my sabbatical.

What I’ve noticed though, is that the majority of people that are out during the day are a) retirees, or b) young stay at home mothers. This makes sense of course, because almost everyone else in the world is at work at 10 AM on Tuesdays. Anyway…the young mother’s thing is causing a major stressor in my life. Because I look at these women and realize…I am their age. And then I look down at my left ring finger with the sparkly bling on it that I love so much and realize, I’m married. And then that reminds me that within the next couple of years…this could be me. And I start to feel ovaries squeeze shut and scream hysterically.

The idea of being responsible for another human being’s life makes me want to puke. That kind of commitment is the most cumbersome thing I can think of. To have a child that is totally completely and utterly dependent on you for every -thing…barf. I mean, I can barely take care of our dog. I forget to feed her or give her water sometimes. I forget to let her out to go potty. I step on her and drop her (accidentally of course) on a frequent basis. I’m just not sure a small child is as resilient as a cockapoo puppy.

I love children too…that’s the funny thing. I have taught Sunday School since I was 14 and I love children and anything to do with them. But the idea of having my own makes me want to run screaming into the night. And it’s so hard to not catch baby fever once you’re married. It’s more aggressive than the swine flu and not quite as deadly as the Ebola virus. I’m fairly certain it’s reached pandemic status.

So all of you out there that know me, please do me a favor and don’t mention the B word. Or the P word. Or any word having to do with children, Hodglings, pregnancy, babies, Volvo minivans, or other such related talk. Because right now they feel as though they just might be my impending doom.