Sometimes (rather more frequently lately, now that he’s teaching 1st graders, who I guess are cute or something), F brings up the logistics of having children of our own. Tis raises questions of who will, well, raise them (since neither of us has time to). He perceives that he “needs” a job to “survive,” and I’m afraid I’m the kind of person who would really not be happy at all without a job outside the home (I was self-employed for a total of two months, and found an excuse to not be in my house the majority of every day. Plus I love my current job).
All right, neither of us will stay home, and besides we can’t really afford to live on one income. Which also rules out professional babysitters, day-cares, or preschools, since in New York those easily cost more than an adult’s salary. Which basically leaves the time-honored tradition of leaving your child with your relatives. You know, like how my parents left me with my mom’s mom and aunt so she could go back to teaching. It was a peachy arrangement, until my father learned the Ladies were managing me by keeping me drunk. Wine and 7up! What Italian baby isn’t weened on wine and 7up? My dad, all close-minded and culturally insensitive, had a problem with this. “But the baby WANTS the wine,” the Ladies argued convincingly. Anyway, different story.
Alas my parents are far away. “My mom could move in,” I suggested. We both laughed. That was funny. F suggested his dad. “No way,” I said. The kid would grow up spoiled rotten and obsessed with clothes shopping–traits I am NOT equipped to handle.
We systematically rules out all our siblings until F came to my brother. “He’d be perfect!” F exclaimed. “It’s not like he’d have anything better to do!” They could spend their afternoons playing a game called “Drinking Beer with Uncle Jeff”:
This little piggy smoked a pack of Camels
This little piggy shot some pool
This little piggy had a minimum-wage menial job
This little piggy had none
And this little piggy went “wee wee wee” all the way home to his mom, who still paid his rent
Thanks, F. A fascinating suggestion.
Ultimately, I guess the only person I want brainwashing my nonexistent future child is me, thank you very much. Which means we’ll be putting this all off until we have fantastic amounts of money. Ie possibly forever.