On Tuesday night my friend L, a special-ed teacher who is in her late 20s and has been married for over a year, talked about how she is ready to have kids and hopes to start trying next year. Four of the seven girls at the table shared her sentiments, and we went on to discuss things that change with the advent of parenthood. For me, notions of lost freedom and scheduling life around someone else's digestive system came to mind. For L, she said: "I ate ice cream for dinner last night. Probably I can't do that when I'm a mom."
True, I guess. One of my favorite childhood memories was a night when Mom was at a conference and the whole family accompanied her to make it a vacation. She had a dinner one night, so Dad took us to the grocery store to get stuff for dinner. Each of us was allowed to choose one thing that we turned into a meal. Dorothy chose Pringles, Rob chose Reese's Pieces, and I chose strawberry ice cream. (Dad got a salad).
We turned out alright. L, I think you'll be just fine as a mother.
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