I’m still not used to the idea of having a baby. Even though we’ve started telling every random stranger we can, it still seems barely real. Even though our parents bought some early, gender-neutral baby clothes, it still doesn’t seem real.
I keep trying to imagine our house with a kid in it, and it just doesn’t happen. Usually I just start thinking about how small our house is and how toys everywhere won’t help. I think about what kind of furniture we’ll need and whether or not we can afford any of this.
Never mind the bigger issues like actually raising a kid. The other day while talking with my mom I was expressing a rather simple-minded philosophy, suggesting that a good talk was what a certain teenager really needed. My mom did a good job at stiffling her laugh. What do I know about raising teenagers? Later that day I realized how silly I must have sounded.
Some days I think my kids will be mortified of me, and some days I relish that role.
I hate to think about what a kid will think of this. I hate to think about all the stupid things I’ve said, the contradictory ideas and the just plain weird stuff. It’s not that I’d take any of it back, it’s just a bit odd having a detailed, daily collection of your thoughts for several years available to your children and the general public. I suppose that’s something I won’t have to worry about for a while, but it’ll come sooner than I think.