First off, I would very much like to thank blog reader Molly for the adorable and large-ish baby clothes; it turns out that overalls for toddlers are jaw-droppingly adorable. I also blew my monthly allowance on a toddler t-shirt with a pterosaur on it, which is basically an unrelated fact, but it did arrive on the same day. (I’m thinking teeny cowboy boots for next month—my husband is interested in pooling our allowances and getting a board game.)
My mother has apparently been pressuring my awesome sister Kate to have a baby. Kate is married, but she’s also 23, and she and her husband prefer to wait a few years—seems reasonable to me, the 27-year-old pregnant one, but our mother was pregnant with me (her first at)—oh, shoot, math time—wow, 23. Of course, my mother had four children and would have been delighted to have more, so she was on a slightly different trajectory than her three daughters are. As stupid as this is, when Kate first told me, my feelings were hurt for a minute: Why does our mom want Kate to bear grandkids yet find herself unable to give a crap about my little bird? Then, of course, I more reasonably snapped into feeling bad for Kate. Kate has responded I think very sensibly—by getting a puppy.