Oh, grow up

Yesterday, at a cookout at my Aunt Emily's house, I caught myself being an adult.

Somewhere between discussing home decor with my cousin Jennifer and trying to determine if my new prescription for Flonase (to aid in my attempts to reduce my new, scary slack-jawed mouth breathing habit) was going to give me a nosebleed, I found myself sitting on the cement patio, watching my cousin Anthony's baby crawl around, saying "You know what's weird, is that we crawled around on this exact same patio when we were babies."

And it is weird-- not just because it's actually probably not a good idea to let babies crawl around on cement pads. It's because it's time. We're it. We're the new babymakers.

This is something that I just kind of assumed was not going to happen-- I figured Anthony, Jennifer and I would just continue to be relegated to the basement, play Root Beer Tapper on their Commodore 64 and do tumbling routines on that old piece of foam furniture that I discovered years later was actually universally described as a Flip and Fuck.

But then one year for Christmas I began receiving underwear (which I still stubbornly choose to call underpants in secret) in my Christmas stocking instead of My Little Pony accessories. This should have been a major hint at what was to come. The Grownupification of the Shable family children.

In what I choose now to view as a desperate attempt to stave off this process, and not so much a testament to my supremely annoying personality, I managed to hold out the longest, wearing my Simpsons t-shirts and watching professional wrestling far beyond what is actually socially acceptable. But now even I'm married, and one day in the not-too-distant future, an Oja baby will be scraping its not-yet-fully-formed kneecaps across that patio.

This doesn't mean I'm not looking forward to it by any means-- if Anthony's kids are any indication of how fun mine will be, it will definitely be a blast. But I'm going to ask Aunt Emily to hold off on the gifting of underpants for as long as she can, because the slow realization that I am, in fact, an adult, is sort of freaking me out in a way that makes me want to call Anthony and Jennifer and see if they want to play Scooby Doo one more time before we all have to get accountants and open mutual funds and worry about our lawns. I won't even fight to be Daphne, that's how serious I am about this whole endeavor.

Vote for Madelyn!

You love soda. You love babies. So wouldn't you love your soda to have a picture of a baby on it?

Click here to vote for my best friend Megan's baby Madelyn to be featured on a Jones Soda label. If you don't, Madelyn will know, and will cry and cry, and Megan will be so mad at you.

If nothing else, check it out for the awesome photo of Angry Madelyn-- seen below in much less angry, cuter form.

Ooo, baby baby!

So I'm heading out on the wide open road again tomorrow, ending my sweeping tour of the south (Okay, North Carolina and Virginia) with a visit to my best friend Megan, her husband Matt, and their new baby Madelyn! This, of course, means no blogging from me, but seeing as how I don't really blog that much while actually seated in my own home, I don't think it will really hurt your hearts too much.

In general, my whole life has been awash in babies for the last year or so, as like a third of my friends have been dedicating their lives to reminding me that I totally want a baby, even if it means giving up laying on the couch and watching cartoons. (But babies like cartoons, right?) Among those prestigious baby-havers (and baby-havers-in-waiting) of the last year or so:

• Angela (and one on the way!)
• Deidre (and one on the way, part two!)
• Megan
• Diane
• Stephanie
• Alyssa
• Cassie (actually, has this baby arrived yet?)
• And finally, one friend who I will not mention by name until she has revealed it on her blog, which is the true sign that it's okay to announce!

Actually, that list seems kind of small, like I forgot someone. Which is really crappy, when you finally realize that you've forgotten that one of your friends had a baby. So if I forgot you, please write in to berate me, so I don't have to spend too much time worrying myself nauseated about it.

So until I can have some babies of my own, which is still probably a few more years down the line (I want to be mature enough to at least watch the live-action shows on Nickelodeon), I will avail myself of these people to play with their bundles of joy. I can even change diapers! I don't like to, but I can.

Oh, and in unrelated news, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MEGAN! And furthermore, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DENISE, whose birthday is coming up while I'm out of town-- curse you, state lines!