I have this idealized version of motherhood. I know about all of the smelly and poopy and loud things that come with and out of babies. Even though I'm fully understanding of the icky reality that children provide, I chose to imagine it as an idyllic and peaceful time where we quietly bring life into the world and then still have time to clean the house and shower. I imagine a child who lacks a gag reflex and smiles all the time for reasons other than gas. I imagine pregnancy to be a time of happiness and euphoria. I ignore the possibility of swollen ankles and bladders that will never be large enough. I feel like I've earned that right. I'm not sure what I did to earn it, but I did. I have no interest in gathering more information prior to the possible experience. I want to sit here in ignorance until I get punched in the neck by the realities of screaming babies and diapers filled with things that I can't even really place.
...And I've grossed myself out.
Idealism, remember?
I'll go back to remembering that it's hip to be square, kids.
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