Who Wore It Best? Part Deux (“Deux” is pronounced sort of like “duh,” because the answer is obvious.)
Although my barely detectable maternal instinct is wholly satisfied by caring for cats, others in my life are not so blessed. Many of them don’t have cats, or don’t want them, which is totally fine because more for me.
While I’ve been squirreling away cash for my cats’ college funds, my friends have been busy nesting and baby-proofing their cribs. (MTV taught me that “cribs” is what today’s youths and rappers call “domiciles.”) Yes, I’ve apparently reached the age when my peers are starting to fill the Teva-and-Isabel-sized hole in their hearts with children. This displeases me.
Taking into account my selfishness, disapproval of polluting the Earth with progeny and allergy to humans born after Ronald Reagan‘s first term, I figured these births would be the death of our friendships.
I feared the postpartum depression. The sleepless nights. The hemorrhoids. And I’m just talking about the effect their kids would have on *me*.
Possibly worst of all, I resented that I’d have to buy baby shower, birthday and holiday gifts for their little tax write-offs. When’s the last time someone gave my cats a present? Technically, mid-October. But it feels more dramatic and vindicating to say NEVER.
But when I’m wrong, I am wrong.
Upon the arrival of a co-worker’s first child, I reluctantly yet meticulously picked out the perfect congratulations-on-being-born present, and bore witness to the look of sheer joy and wonderment on her innocent, cherubic face as she happily wore the cutesy clothes. I’ve never felt more appreciated, so full of purpose. It warmed the cockles of my hard heart.
This is what being a mother is all about, I thought. I’m making a difference. Like Angelina Jolie with her caboodle of third-world orphans.
That’s why Hanukkah came early this year for another chum’s tyke. I just couldn’t wait another day to celebrate, get my blue on and light the womenorah. I again shopped stores high and low, and instantly those euphoric feelings came flooding back when I saw the little angel sporting adorable new duds.
Then I handed off the gift to my friend’s kid and whatever. No biggie.
P.S. Go here for part one of “Who Wore It Best?”
P.P.S. Isabel purred most of time.
P.P.P.S. She wears a toddler 2/3. But no pressure.
P.P.P.P.S. OK, I lied. Isabel purred the whole time.