The pleasures of ignorance are as great, in their way, as the pleasures of knowledge.
It must be nice to assume that if you want kids, you can have them. It must be nice to be able to choose and plan when you have your kids based on when it works for your schedule, and not when your body finally cooperates. It must be nice to be able to say “when we have our second” instead of “if we ever have kids.” And it must be nice to assume that everyone older than you has children.
The following was an exchange with a coworker yesterday (a man who is about seven years younger than I am):
Me: *yawning as coworker walks in my office around 11 a.m.*
Coworker: “Hey now, it’s too early to be yawning!”
Me: “Not when you only get four hours of sleep.”
Coworker: “Well, that’s what happens when you have babies.”
Me: “… uh, I don’t have babies…”
Me: “I’m infertile.”
I probably didn’t have to add the last part, though he clearly looked confused as to why I didn’t have babies. But I had just finished a conversation with seven month pregnant coworker-who-thought-she-might-be-infertile-and-asked-me-for-help-only-to-find-out-she-was-already-pregnant and was not in the mood to be reminded again how my body has failed me.
And he clearly thought that since I only got four hours of sleep the night before it was because I had babies in the house. Because if you are in your 30s and you don’t sleep well one night, it must be because you are up with babies.
That would be nice.