The Scene:
Sir Opti and I are on the way to a friend’s Sunday afternoon party. We pull up to a very lovely colonial home with a well-manicured lawn in the west suburbs. We proceed to walk to the backyard. We narrow in on an object in the backyard. We come to a quick realization that the object behind the picket fence is our future social detriment – a bounce house.
"Honey? This is not a toilet. Now pull your pants up."
Friends from high school who I had once known to be smoking cigarettes, sneaking beers, making out with boys and making plans to go to Heritage Fest to make out with more boys, were now swarmed around a bounce house, cooing and having 5-minute long conversations with their husbands about juice boxes, diaper bags and meal times without ever even making eye contact with said husband.
Crap. I just walked into a kids party.
I just threw up in the chips!
My very dear friend just had a baby in April. The party was for everyone to meet the little gal, adults and children alike. Being that it’s their first child, you could see the look on her husband’s face as the true reality of being a parent clotheslines you. While my friend was upstairs breastfeeding the guest of honor, he sat down on the beautifully lain brick patio with a beer in his hand and a look of exhaustive defeat on his face, “Do you remember when parties used to be fun?”
I guess a parent’s reality check isn’t so much about the direct impact of raising a child. Rather, it’s the indirect impact of missing out on what used to be normal.
- Socializing with friends without worrying if another human being is still breathing during a nap.
- Having a conversation with your wife or husband and instilling eye contact.
- Going from running an errand to becoming task-master-king/queen- of-assembly-line survival (Especially when it comes to packing. Bottles? Check. Diapers? Check. Bib? Check. Enjoying each other? Oh, um, I think I left that on the safe side of sex.)
Having eleven nieces and nephews myself, you’d think The Bridge would be used to it. But when it’s family, it’s different. I was an aunt at 7-years-old. It’s what I was used to. Adults don’t have conversations but in 3-second-increments until someone tries to put their finger in a socket, pull the dog’s ear or have a plain-old-I’m-tired-as-hell-meltdown. But my friends – they were my safe haven from that insane universe. The amniotic sack that held my little world of wine parties, ridiculous dinner expenses and 2 a.m. chats on the back porch is now broken. And I’m coming out of that world kicking and screaming.
Sir Opti and I are in relationship purgatory. Now that we’re married and don’t have a wedding to plan, we’re ready to have amniotic sack living with others! But now one half of my friends are submerged in the wedding planning time-suck and the other half are with their babies, having the 2 a.m. chats. But I’m sure instead of talking about the awesome shows coming into town, they are whispering a soft prayer, “Dear God, please let my child go to sleep before I go to FedEx and slap a return label on this here baby.”
Don’t let my selfish desires to have life as it once was be anything more than that. I am very happy for my friends and the new lives they are leading. From a DINK’s (Double Income No Kids) perspective, the pool of fellow DINKs is getting smaller.
For now, it’s just Sir Opti and I and the handful of friends who are in the same sack as us. But it’s only a matter of time until another couple’s water breaks.
