I’d always thought, in the back of my mind, that married people are a different species from unmarried people. Married people are grownups with serious and adult responsibilities. They have outgrown childish desires like opposite-sex friends, partying, getting drunk, staying out all night, cussing, extravagant vacations, spontaneous plans. They are good examples for society.

I know this isn’t necessarily a given, but that’s the kind of grownup I grew up looking at, and the kind of grownup I thought I’d be. But now that I’ve been married almost 5 months, I don’t feel any more grown up. I still have the same quirky humor, “off” comments, and co-ed friendships I’ve always enjoyed. I still bounce around the house on my toes, “accidentally” bouncing into my now-husband and he bounces back with me. We were having lunch with his recently legal adult daughter and her friend over the weekend at a panini restaurant when we (Mr. W and I) got into a shoving war in the booth and I had to brace my hands against the wall and use my back to push back against Mr. W as his daughter and her friend laughed and called us children. And today, I’m meeting up with Anny for dinner and hanging out and Mr. W is meeting his old neighbor for dinner and a movie. Life as a married person isn’t much different from life as an unmarried person, and I’m pleasantly surprised. For Chinese New Year, my parents and grandma gave us both red envelopes like we were kids. “You’re not really a grownup until someone looks to you as a grownup,” Mr. W said. That makes sense; we have to be grown-up relative to something else.

Something else would probably have to be offspring. We had the “baby” talk some days ago quite inadvertently. We were driving somewhere, talking about babies, and I said as long as I have one before turning 35, I’m okay. Cuz the amniotic (sp?) fluid testing for Down Syndrome they do on age 35+ expectant mothers just gives me the heebie jeebies. And then I realized I would be turning 33 this year. Which means I need to have the baby next year. Which means I need to be pregnant soon. And I started having a panic attack. Good thing I was in the passenger seat, because I lost sensation in my legs.

Mr. W is oddly better adjusted to the idea of having this kid than I am, considering he was the one who’d previously made the decision to never have another baby. But then, he’s done it before. Twice. This is about to change my life as I know it forever. My mind ran though all the random things I’d wanted to remember in case I was ever to become a mother. Don’t give toddlers cheese, they can’t digest it. Don’t give them peanuts early, it may develop into peanut allergies. I want to document the whole process on the blog. What if the kid googles me when he/she is older and finds this blog?! Seeing a baby hand or foot sticking up through my stomach skin is creepy! I hope I can re-use my adolescent stretch marks so I don’t develop pregnancy ones. Cocoa butter, my friend swore by it. Don’t be oversensitive to what the kid says, he/she will think you’re a moron and hate you at some point. Don’t be overbearing or they’ll rebel. I’m never going to sleep well at night again worrying about where my kid is.

And this doesn’t even begin to address the most immediate hurdle: conceiving.