The Horror of Domesticity and Other Hazards of Love

The years rack up and I've started having to check a different box on the "Age" section of surveys. I don't look like a "kid" anymore. I have the beginnings of creases in my forehead, prewrinkles that have formed from the eternal unintentional scowl that I wear when I have no opinion and no emotion. I'll probably have frown lines before laugh lines, which is the last thing you'd expect from an eternal giggler like me.

It wasn't that long ago that I was still a Party Girl. The first year I lived in Boston, when I was just going to school and living off the student loans, I was out 4 nights a week (if not more!). Before that, when I was waiting tables in Cleveland before moving for grad school, I went out pretty much every night. I wanted to live in the city, to be and do everything as "cutting edge" as possible. I can't imagine how much cash I spent on liquor and hoochie clothes (although, it must be stated, a true Party Girl very rarely has to buy her own drinks...especially when wearing said hoochie clothes....).

And oh yeah, I hate kids.

Yep. Hate 'em.

Ok, it's not the kids themselves so much, per se. It's kind of all that they represent. Women are "supposed" to all be itching to get married, settle down, and begin dutifully popping out puppies. Well, fuck that. I value myself as more than a broodmare, a vessel for the creation of more hungry mouths in a world that can't support all its inhabitants as is. I'm smarter than that. I'm a career girl (Without the career! Hooo-ahh!).

I hate that this revelation demands an explanation. What, so it's completely accepted to do something as self-serving as breed rampantly, but my desire to be more prudent and not needs explaining? Gimme a break!

But, as always, I digress.

I can see having a kid under certain circumstances. I told Sean once that I thought kids should be freezer storable. Like: "Hey, honey, I feel like having the baby tonight! Get her out of the freezer!" But then, when you want to go to Europe for 3 weeks? Freeze away!

Unfortunately, it doesn't work exactly that way. And the thing is, I don't hate them nearly as much as I used to. I smile at the cute (quiet!!!) ones now. This scares the hell out of me.

I like the apartment in the residential neighborhood. I don't shop at thrift stores nearly as much. I haven't worn my studded or my beer-bottle cap belts in ages. I wish we had a yard so we could plant a garden.

I seem to be embracing all things domestic. And I'm feeling the slooooow slide down into complete domesticity. When I might do things like be a Soccer Mom (horrors!!!) and try to curb my endlessly f-bombing sailor mouth. And I'm only 28. I wasn't expecting this till I was at least, what, 33?

Again, horrors.

I'm stuck in the quicksand of domesticity!!! And I'm apparently making no move to save myself.