Wednesday, October 27, 2010

The Inkling.

Those who know me well know that I have never had the urge to have children. Now, in the future, ever. Despite constant cries of "You'll change your mind!", and "Just give it a few more years!", I'm almost 29, and it ain't gonna happen. I love Dylan to death, but quite frankly, I do not want to see what the mingling of our gene pools, combined with nine months of cooking next to my small intestine, would churn out.
However, the other night, staring at the TV while in a overtime-induced stupor after work, I felt a small, strange feeling in the pit of my stomach... An inkling, if you will. What if I had a tiny person to carry around with me? Someone to dress in cute outfits, someone to push around in a sweet little carriage... My petite, well-dressed, apple-cheeked cherub would be the envy of all of my friends. It could be a wonderful, life-changing experience! Motherhood! Bravo!
That's when I spilled my iced tea on my sweatshirt, and came back down to earth.
Waaaaait a minute.
On second thought, the the odd, overtaking feeling that had just swept over my conscience was not a newfound desire to spring children from my loins, but rather a familiar (twenty-five year old) yearning for a really bitchin' Cabbage Patch Doll.

~sarah p.

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