Sometimes, I feel my life is somewhat trivial and meaningless. It’s been over four years since I got married and five years since my daughter was born. And since that time, I feel like I’ve done nothing. I’ve had a hundred jobs and paid my rent and kept Furniture Row afloat, but have I really done anything?
Is it selfish to say having someone to depend on me would make me feel like there was a purpose to my life? Because that’s how I feel. I don’t mean people without children don’t live fulfilling lives, I just mean that I don’t. There is nothing special about me and my daily comings and goings. I am not shaping anyone’s life or influencing anyone. I am existing.
I don’t particularly like babies. I don’t like how they can’t talk and are always screaming. I don’t like changing diapers or sucking boogers out of noses with a baster. But babies grow up to be cute little boys who play little league games and cute little girls who want to dress themselves in mismatched clothes.
That part doesn’t sound half bad. I have already thought up traditions we would keep. I have thought of names and smiled at the thought of furnishing another room. I know what books I would buy them and where I would put the playhouse in the backyard. I know where I would lock Steve’s booze up at and where I would hide their Christmas presents from Santa. I am playing house, but with only the house.