Like most of the 9 – 5 working class of America, I hate Mondays. I don’t hate them because I hate going back to work, because that’s just a little too common of a reason to hate a day, right? No, I hate Mondays because this is the day that I am required to get back onto a schedule. I must now wake up at a specific time, go to bed at a reasonable hour, cook dinner nightly, etc. I hate being on any sort of a schedule. I wish that I could just flow from day to day. Now, I will admit that when on a schedule I get more accomplished, but it still sucks. I much prefer to sleep in, take occasional naps, and act in a generally lazy manner until the need strikes me to do anything. Wait… that means I don’t want to work… <sigh> I suppose the truth comes out. I want to be a stay at home mom, even though I have yet to birth any children.
On a completely different subject, hubs and I have discussed that when I hit 30 we stop “practicing” at the whole “baby-making thing”. (For those of you that don’t understand what that means, it means that when I turn 30, he starts trying to put a baby in my belly.) This has always been the plan, since we first discussed children, so it comes as no surprise. However, after just having a birthday, I’m realizing that thirty is closer than I really want it to be. And that’s not to say that I’m not ready to be a mother and move on to a different part of my life. I just mean that… I can’t believe that a year from now I could be preggers. I can’t believe that I won’t be drinking or doing random stupid shit because someone else will be more important. I don’t know. It just feels weird that I’m even old enough to make decisions like this. I still feel like a kid, but I’m not.