Strange things...

... I've been wondering if my recent malaise, the ups and downs of blue funk that pulls me under, is not completely writing-related, and might have something to do with age.

And children. (is that why we want a dog so badly right now?)

I've never wanted kids. After years of thinking it over (and as my husband notes, "you bring it up every day"), since I was a kid myself, there wasn't ever a time when I wanted that baby, the way I wanted love and a relationship, graduate school, figuring out life, writing a book. It might be the case where if we do end up with a baby, we'll love it and fall in love with it, but we're not actively longing for one in the abstract.

I just don't see a child in our lives. Luckily, the husband is on the same page. We love our niece (and nephew), but I'd like to keep them the primary kids in my life right now.

Yet, I love reading mommy-blogs. The warm and cozy feeling I get there makes them my new secret lurker fandom. I love reading about their taking their kids to day care, and what they fed them, and their kid-conversations, and frustrating bits.

They bring up the oddest things, stuff I couldn't imagine (is it a good thing we can't remember too much about our babyhoods?). Today: kids bite each other.

How bizarre, and um... kind of scary and cute. In a kind of brutal way, I guess they're more like puppies than I thought.