Each day, during my daily commute, I end up stopped at a red light next to this day care center that obviously caters to the Cool Moms. Each day, I watch the Cool Moms walk their tots from their Subarus to the door. These are tots, I'm sure, with cool old-timey names like Ella and Gus. The moms and tots are dressed in hip, sensible layers of woolly and fleecy things, and they look happy.
My wife and I have decided not to have kids. We've been married for 13 years (!) now, and it's been an ongoing conversation with us, but as our biological clocks start to run out (we're both 35), we agree: we don't have the time or energy, we don't feel a baby-shaped void in our lives, we're living happy lives without kids, etc.
And yet I think both my wife and I see each other as a potential perfect parent. And yet it's an indescribable frustration to me that my illness should play such a large part in this decision (and it does). And yet I'm envious of the Cool Moms and their Subarus and woolly and fleecy get-ups and whatever it is that seems to make them so happy.
Maybe I need to take a different route to work.
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