I like children. Most children. When I was in college I was a nanny for a two year old boy named Hunter. He was difficult and challenging and I loved him. He made me laugh. He wasn't boring.
Andrew likes children. He points them out to me at the grocery store. He calls me over to see pictures of them on Facebook. He talks about Little League and family vacations and infant size football jerseys.
But what about everything else that comes along with those pint size people? Like the poop bombs and the boosters and the chicken pox and the pediatricians and the paranoid parents and the poop bombs and the life insurance and the pacifiers and the poop bombs?
I asked a few of my mama friends about it.
"ALWAYS ASSUME THE WORST WHEN IT COMES TO THE POOP BOMBS, KELLY."
We've decided to refill my birth control.