Irony

I can spend hours–days, even–with my niece and nephew and be appropriately taken in by their adorable cuteness, willing to make a fool of myself in public making funny noises and faces to make them laugh, and be perfectly happy to hand them back to their owners and walk away with nary a twinge of “I want one for myself.” I’m not sure I can express in words how not-ready I am for kids of my own.

On the other hand, less than an hour and a half on a horse this week and I’m all looking up prices for tack and boots and figuring out that it’s much cheaper to adopt a rescue horse than to buy one. And, you know, there are horses in my book, so it would be a research expense. Yeah.

I think that’s rather telling. Right now I have much more of my former 6th-grade self in me than the future mother-type I expect will come out at some point. On the other hand, horses don’t go through rebellious teenage years, so maybe they’d be a better bet in the long run. . . .

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