Babies...EVERYWHERE

After a post about marriage, you had to know this was not far behind. No, I am not pregnant. But everyone else is.

I suppose this is just part of what happens to people in their late 20s but seriously, when did everyone start having babies? My newsfeed is jam-packed with pictures of other people's children. Some of them are going off to school, some of them are learning to walk, some of them are rolling over for the first time and, my personal favorite, some of them are covered in bodily fluids, moments after being snatched from their mother's vagina. With the six-hour time difference, all those kids that are born in the evening on the east coast are the first things to pop up as I scroll through Facebook while eating my breakfast. Your vernix-frosted baby is making it hard for me to swallow my chocolate-frosted pastry so I need you to slow it down.

And it's not just on Facebook. There were babies everywhere this summer. Men and women alike were strapped up with those baby bandoliers that criss-cross all over your torso so your hands are free to post more pictures of your baby on social media outlets. You couldn't walk down the street without bumping into someone's baby bump. I like kids just fine, and tiny clothes for newborns are totally squeal-worthy, but I'm still light years away from being ready for children.

It got serious when my friend Becky told us all that she was pregnant. Until now, it's just been a couple kids from high school, older cousins, former co-workers/teammates, or friends of friends that I didn't really talk to that much anyway. Becky made it real. People just like me are working nine-to-fives, getting married, and cranking out small versions of themselves. Meanwhile, I am working whatever random jobs I can get, staying out drinking until 4am, and running off to the French Riviera for weeks at a time. You're posting pictures of your child? I'm posting pictures are cats that aren't even mine.

Maybe someday, my uterus will start glowing in the presence of small children instead of feeling an overwhelming urge to run away. Maybe I'll be delighted instead of disgusted when you ask if I want to feel the baby kicking. (I have seen Alien one too many times to trust things moving around inside you.) Maybe Jason and I will be done being selfish and bust out some grandchildren for our parents to spoil rotten.

In the meantime, I'll have another glass of wine and continue to sleep until noon on weekends. That's what adulthood means to me.