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About a year and a half ago, I had a horrifying experience. I was holding on to my cousin’s baby son (holding on = carrying like foreign object) at the annual New Years open house in Mission BC and I suddenly felt the desire to procreate. The moment lasted just long enough for me to ponder over whether or not I had left my drink unattended. I searched frantically for my wine, considered a cigarette, and quickly thought about my favourite selfish things such as $400 shoes, sleeping in, and red wine.

But the feeling didn’t really disappear. Instead, it became this irritating little voice in the back of my head, one which whispered things like “your best child-rearing years are passing you by” and “awww” whenever it saw tiny people in strollers. I started involuntarily sighing whenever I saw kids doing the top-heavy diaper walk. I compared the cost of a PhD to a child, and even though the child came out way over, I still thought the kid made more sense. I started worrying about law school and time lines, and would I be able to stay home, and would I be able to pay for their college, and what if I couldn’t find the right guy to do this with, and would I consider sperm donors and AHH. In other words, I went bonkers.

And I was confused. What about my dreams of waking up everyday to a dry martini, cigarette, and sexy pool boy? Of travelling my entire life and never settling down for longer than a couple of years? Of fabulous dinner parties and becoming prime minister and so on and so on? Argh.

It’s been almost two years now, and apparently this crap isn’t going to go away – evidence of my new found love for children may be seen above. And the worst part is, I think I might actually be ok at it. The motherhood bit. Further, I think I might – gasp – enjoy it. Shut up Nic D, Aynsley, and Melissa. I am aware of how ridiculous the idea of “Stoner” having children is. But when screaming kids don’t turn one off the idea, one is screwed.

I’m totally screwed.

Don’t read into this too much however. I’m not going to start running into the streets, attacking men and demanding their sperm. Nor am I going to start stealing children. Nor am I going to go find me a husband and get hitched. Nor am I going to pull a Jolie (although if I had the money, I’d consider it). Nope, I’m going to go get myself a PhD and stifle my baby sighs. This post is merely an indication of how irritated I am by the fact that I may actually be growing up. Ew I can’t believe I just wrote that.