I got in touch with some friends of mine that I haven’t spoken with in at least a year. They live nearby now, so I might get to see them face to face for the first time in about 5 years. In talking with them over email, though, I’ve found that they are still funny, very sharp, and oh yeah… pregnant.

Weird.

There’s something about running into friends your own (approximate) age who are pregnant. Something about their babiness that makes you question your own lack of babiness (my pregnant friend mentioned this phenomena to me, in fact). I suppose it’s Keeping Up with the Joneses: there are things Jackie and I want to accomplish, a sort of unspoken marital checklist of Things to Do, with the “time” slot next to each filled in with a year (or an age) instead of a date: “Get our own back yard by [2001 (three years after first house)].” or “Triple 1998 income by [5 Years].”

“Have Kids” is not scribbled in on this list anywhere, and sometimes I wonder at the oversight. I’ve put it in the imaginary margins a couple times, in pencil, but it always seems to get erased or written over. I could say this is because Jackie has no maternal inclinations (she would agree with me), but you see… Justin would argue with us, if not verbally then by his very presence. We’ve been DOING the kid-thing; doing it pretty well by and large and if you don’t mind my saying so, but that isn’t really what I’m talking about. Don’t get me wrong: pre-teens are hard, and we’ll be ready to give our friends pointers (or a bottle of aspirin, or a hug) during their kid’s teenage years long before any of them get there, but we’ve missed out on the baby-stuff.

I know it’s not fun; hell, I’m not even looking forward to it, necessarily. I see the weary, drawn look on my friends’ faces when thier kid starts shrieking from the next room, and the LAST thing I think at that moment is “Yeah, I gots tah get me summa THAT.”

It’s a rite of passage. It’s a gauntlet. It’s like hanging out with your buddies who all served in the military while you were getting your Masters Degree… there’s a few conversations you don’t get to participate in. You’re left out; disqualified not because you couldn’t do it, but because you haven’t.

Yes, a stupid fucking reason to want kids (it’s not the only reason, of course, but it’s in there). Stupid, yes, thank you; I know and I heard you the first time.

Except, haven’t you ever seen someone doing something hard, and wondered if you had the balls to try it yourself, wondered how you’d do?