Feminest

I haven’t actually been asked by anyone yet if I’m having a baby.  Besides my students being occasionally curious about my family plans, no one has pressured Ian nor myself to think about kids or have conversations about a timetable for grandkids.  Which is great.  Because I can’t imagine how annoyingly uncomfortable that could get with Bigbad’s big Italian grandmother.

But if anyone is at all curious about any cubs being brought into the Bigbad household, you can rest easy knowing that there won’t be any babies for awhile.  Number one reason that is holding us back from bringing spawn into the world?  Insurance.  As pregnancy is a prior condition, my insurance won’t cover it until Jan 1.  And I cannot fathom a pregnancy without insurance.  Eek!  Sure, the global financial crisis (is that even a veiled attempt at a euphemism…I would sure appreciate a euphemism about now) doesn’t exactly encourage us to think about the future with another mouth to feed.

I suppose I anticipated a nearly instantaneous pressure from outside sources to jump on the baby making train and get on all of that charting and temping mess.  Actually, the only pressure I feel is from myself.  Not a lot mind you, but some.  I’m not feeling a biological clock ticking (far from it).  I don’t get pangs when I see a mother pushing a stroller.  But some small part of me lights up like a lamp in an empty room thinking about my husband holding a child– our child– one that was created out of love.  Cheesy, I know.  But I suppose after the wedding, I’ve just been thinking about other dreams and miraculous events coming to fruition.  I do want a baby.  Not now (although a tiny voice inside might squeak out “I do want a baby now.”).  Definitely not now.  But I do enjoy merely the wasteful musings about a baby.

And we are actively considering adoption.  Of a dog.  Bigbad says it’s “kids lite.”  But I disagree.  Still, the thought of building our family warms my heart.  And if that’s where we start, I am eager for this next phase.  I can’t screw up a dog nearly as much as I’ll screw up a child.  Or at the very least the dog won’t need as much therapy.

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