Being a late twenty-something female, one might assume that there is a certain clock that may be ticking away. I however, am not of the norm and as far as I can tell, I hear no damn clock. “Oh you’ll change” they say to me as they giddily show me baby pictures and reminisce how cute it was when they got puked on the other night (seriously? that’s just gross). I play in a band. We play in bars. Babies and bars don’t really go hand-in-hand. Nor do the words pregnant and pint of Guiness please.
Last week a co-worker of mine stopped by the office with his new spawn. I felt some obligation to check the new specimen out, and so I did just that. Well, to be totally honest, we had a moment. I locked eyes with the little fella and he stared me down good (then he proceeded to drool). And for a brief, glimmering moment, I thought to myself “I could do that” (as in have a baby, not the drooling bit). Immediately upon realization of what I was thinking, I quickly bid adéus, headed home and I cracked the last bottle of Stock Ale that was sitting in the back of the fridge.