I am going to pause and not talk about bikes for a moment, instead I will talk about babes. Not hot babes (unfortunately), but babes as in babies. Babies that are yours from the time they come out of you until they reach college. Well, they are yours forever, I suppose, not just eighteen years.
Recently, I had a break down. Last year, to be exact. It was a pivotal moment, I was considering doctoral-ism. All of a sudden, a time table flashed before my eyes. I am(was) 28, a PhD is going to take approximately five years. Then, a deep voice said to me, ‘but when are you going to have a baby?’ I immediately wept. It was too much pressure. Why was I required to think about this, about procreating? Why is it my decision? Why do I have to think about it at all until I am absolutely and really ready? Why must I be the procreator? Can’t someone else be the procreator?
This was all part of my break down. On a normal day, I don’t think about having children. In fact, it rarely crosses my mind.
When I see someone on their bike with a little trailer on the back. The windows are screened. And it is covered in reflectors.
Then, I think to myself, ‘if I have a baby that is what we will do.’