I think I had been married all of 5 minutes before I got the question: SO, when will you start trying for a child?
Ummm…hello? Let me eat my wedding cake first, please. The short answer to this question is: I have no earthly idea. Damir and I don’t exactly have the space to put a crib, I barely have room to unpack a suitcase…where would the baby sleep? Under the bed? In the fridge? In the bathtub? On a hammock suspended from the ceiling?
What is both very endearing but mostly maddening about Damir is that he doesn’t worry about these things. He just wants to be a dad. He figures the problems will just kind of work themselves out, that all you need to have a baby is one simple thing: love (cue the “awwwww”). Meanwhile, grumpy grump over here is mentally tallying up the cost of diapers, toys, baby-proofing the apartment, food, car seats, strollers, slings, highchairs, boppies, burp cloths, bibs, onesies, lovies, numbies, teddies, pumps, ointments, bottles, bandaids, baby shampoo, thousands of little pairs of socks, rattles, sleep machines, rocking chairs, sleep sacks, and about another million things babies seem to require. And that doesn’t even begin to cover what daycare will likely cost in New York City. AND what I would need to invest in industrial strenghth spanx. Listen, I don’t even know if I get maternity leave. How can I know when I will have a baby?
So, there you go. That’s the answer you’ll get if you ask me.