Only after I'd skulked around those pages & sites for months did it slowly occur to me, "Hey, I might be ready to marry this man!", the one I'd been dating for one year by this point. Yes, reader - I may be Pretty, but I'm not always the swiftest to the finish line. Happily, the Anonymous Husband* proposed shortly thereafter, so I didn't think much about the timing of secretive research vs. reality.
*The guy I was ready to marry = the AH, fortunately.
IRONY ALERT: The very blogger who warned you to stopstopstop it already and quit asking everyone, including me, about our up-to-the-minute plans to procreate, is about to venture into a discussion of those estrogen-addled waters herself. Much like someone insulting your mother, it doesn't count when you're the one doing it. So there. Nanny nanny boo boo.
Fast forward to last week, when one of those moments snuck up on me during a morning Starbucks trip. As I stood impatiently in line, already running late for work, a toddler wobbled in front of me. Her black curls akimbo, she made those "Look at me!" toddler eyes and smiled as she swung around to proudly show off her sparkly blue fairy wings.
Cue my ovaries clack clack clacking like biological castanets, tapping out in perfect time, "OMG, fairy wings! You can do this mommy thing, Mel! Don't you want a child of your very own to dress in whimsical costumes?!?" My inner reverie breaks only to note the harried mother of said toddler, who has apparently seen the fairy wings act already & grabs the girl's hand to hurry to the door.
In truth, this is one of many moments that have crept up on me over the past few months. I've honed my Nancy Drew** sleuthing skills yet again, only this time in the "parenting" bookshelves and those delightfully paranoid baby websites that tell you the 5,076,892 ways you can poison your child before he or she is actually conceived.
**I'm missing her ability to solve the crime in 150 tidily summed up pages or less, sadly, as well as the
naturally "titian" hair. Sigh.
Don't mistake this admission for my telling you that the AH & I are actually trying to have a child quite yet; on the contrary, my body has gone into a sort of parenting bachelorette ("ovarette?") party in the opposite direction. Suddenly, there is no wine within a 10 mile radius that is safe from me.*** I peruse and purchase soft cheeses and sushi like a lech peering at a nudie mag. I'm compelled to plan exotic trips that cannot happen, practically speaking, if a baby is in the near future.
***Not that the wine was safe before, but you know what I mean.
Until that magical realization gradually dawns, just as it did before, you can find me with my kind friend, Pinot Noir, hoovering a brick of Brie, while I sneak around the paranoid baby websites and wait for clarity - or the inevitable "Martha Stewart Babies" magazine.