Oh Wait…Are We Sure We Want to Do This?

Sometimes there are events or scenarios that give me pause, make me rethink this whole “having a baby” thing.

This weekend was host to one of those scenarios.

Not the main event – that was a baptism of one of our family members. That portion of the weekend was very nice and family-affirming, even with a mandatory trip to church. Several babies were being baptized and they were all adorable (the one belonging to our clan the most, of course), well-behaved, full of giggles and strange made up words and funny faces and, if you were lucky, a smile just for you that melts your heart – exactly what one thinks of (or at least me) when I am gearing up for another evening shot in the *ss after yet another caffeine-free, alcohol-free day and I am thinking, remind me again why I am doing this?

No, the “hey wait…” moment came late Saturday night. 11:30 p.m. to be exact. That’s when we finally called the front desk of our hotel to ask for some sort of help dealing with the gaggle of pre-teen girls who were marauding the hotel hallways, knocking on doors then giggling and squealing as they ran away, and generally, just squealing. Kind of like a runaway train whose brakes aren’t working. Only louder.

Oh my god, Michael and I said to ourselves. Is this what we are asking for? Do we really think we’re ready for this? What makes us think we are ready for this??

I personally think you could probably have the coolest, most together kid in the world, raised right, full of the right values, and knowing how to “act right” as my mother would say, but once there are in a group of a dozen or more, all bets are off. It’s mob rule. And there is nothing you can do about it. Am I right?

The next morning, as we were getting directions to the church from the front desk, the chaperone of a cluster of pre-teens of the male variety stopped by to voice her complaints about the hannah montanas gone wild. What’s funny about that is that we later heard from our relatives that her charges were busy terrorizing their side of the hallway. Just as loud, just not as high-pitched.

Is that what happens when you become a parent? Are you hyper-sensitized to mischief emanating from other young’uns, but blind (and deaf) to mayhem coming from your own?

Do we really think we’re ready for this? What makes us think we are ready for this??