Let me tell you about Saturday and the startling self-realization I came to while cleaning a table.  (Yes – while cleaning a table.)

First, you have to understand how the entire day progressed to understand the epiphany that occurred.  Saturday was the boy’s house warming party (even though he has been in his house for six months) so I woke up in the morning to awesome cuddles (because he is an awesome cuddler) and then started about my day.  First – we re-organized his room, because like a typical bachelor, he had his bed arranged so it was against two walls.  This poses a significant uncomfort level for me because that means I have to crawl over him to get out of bed – or scoot off the bed which is typically not very sexy.  After re-arranging his room (where his bed scratched my leg) we went downstairs and started prepping for the house warming.

This consisted of me cleaning his kitchen while he vacuumed and organized the living area.  I won’t get into the fact that this was extremely domestic, because I think that’s pretty self explainitory.  What surprised me was the comfort level we both had in doing these tasks – especially since his house isn’t my house.  After cleaning the kitchen, we proceeded to make it messy again by making deviled eggs and hamburgers, as well as cutting and cleaning the veggies for kabob’s.  This was also extremely domestic but I didn’t start freaking out then – again, it felt more comfortable than anything else.

Eventually, people started to arrive, and the party was on.  Now, I don’t know any of his friends, and actually, I still don’t feel like I know them all that well because I was the odd person out.  Most of his friends have all known each other since college and I was the interloper that didn’t know anyone.  (Which is why some of our mutual friends were supposed to come, but all bailed and I will be addressing that with them at a later date.)  Because I was the odd person out, I ended up playing hostess almost.  I cooked, prepped food, and cleaned for a significant amount of time during the party, while having small bits of conversations with his friends if they happened to be in an area I was in.

Now – here’s where it hits me.

After all the food was served (of which there was a ton) I was cleaning off the table so people could play flip cup.  Somewhere between walking to the kitchen with the left over meat, and putting the veggies in baggies in the fridge, a strange feeling started creeping over me.   I couldn’t tell what it was, so I continued on my path grabbing the clorox wipes to wipe down the table.

In the middle of wiping the table it hit me like a bag of bricks.

I am my mother.

The things I was doing, cleaning as I go, making sure there’s not too much clean up at the end of the night, rearranging his room, making deviled eggs and kabob’s.  These are all things I learned from my mother.  It’s something that I innately know from watching her host a ton of parties at her house.    (Although, if you hear my mother tell it,  my obsessive need to be clean and anal retentive attitude towards things like the way dishes go in the dishwasher definitely comes from my father and not her.)   While I’m absorbing this information, and wiping the table down, the second part of this hits me like another bag of bricks.

I want children.  

You see, the majority of my adult life, I’ve been operating under the impression that I either did not want children – or I only wanted children because the person I was with wanted children.  In fact, any time that I started thinking about children – it was more because it was a thing to do – because it was “what’s next” – not because I actually wanted them.  Left to my own devices, I have always assumed I would prefer to be working, or partying, or generally being bad-ass and single.  But wiping down that table, prepping it for the guests to play flip-cup, I all of sudden knew with crystal clarity that I wanted to be wiping down that table because my child(ren) had made it messy.  I want to do laundry for them, and make peanut butter and jelly without the crust.  I want to take care of another (tiny) human life.  I want to take care of multiple (tiny) human lives.  In fact, I want a child to have an epiphany while wiping down a table that they are just like me.  That is something that I want – for myself – with or without a guy in the picture.  (Although, obviously, having a guy in the picture would make this whole thing significantly easier.)

Of course, this threw everything in turmoil in my brain because not just two days before I was talking to the boy about the whole kids thing and I said that I was undecided – and he is definitely undecided, leaning more towards no.  My brain immediately jumped in hyper-drive, thinking about everything that this meant for my future, timelines, possible outcomes, what my next steps are – you know, all the things people like me think about when they make a life altering decision.

I still don’t have it figured out.  I’m still adjusting.   But who knew a clorox wipe could change your entire life like that.