I know you've heard people say this — they are pregnant and they weren't even trying. You may have said it yourself. We just started trying. I didn't even know they were trying. Trying.
At the risk of sounding (but with no intentions of being) thoughtless and disrespectful, what the hell does that mean? Trying? Think about this with me. I get that it's a process. I've been there. But what are you really sharing with people when you say that? What you're really saying is, we just started having sex with purpose. No more messin' around. This is serious business. We're trying.
When it comes to babies, nothing seems to be off limits. I came to terms long ago with the amount of "advice" parents receive about their children. In fact, just this weekend we were in Lewis & Clark in Springdale when the girl behind the counter (who easily looked old enough to have about 2 years of good solid babysitting experience under her belt) took one look at Colt walking across the floor, turned to me and said, "he's a toe walker. They don't grow out of that, you know. There's a guy who works downstairs that still walks on his toes." I didn't really know what to say, so I kinda half-smiled at her and walked in the opposite direction. Thanks, stranger. I thought you looked like an expert.
It starts when you're pregnant. It's as if pregnancy is the period of hazing before you officially become a member of The Club. Don't get me wrong. I am a proud, card-carrying member. For gosh sakes, I blog. I am clearly embracing The Mommyness of it all. I love that there is a whole community out there of people just like me who are real and helpful and, at times, clueless.
The Parenting Club. Where it's perfectly normal to talk about things like what color your kid's poop is and the pros and cons of sippy cups and whether or not you're, you know, trying.