Babies makin' babies

Last night, Dr. Wife asked me which one of us I thought would be the first to say, "Let's have kids now." I think she meant to say she thought it would be me. I, of course, think it will be her.

And it's not that I hate kids. I don't. I just don't want one now. And now has been going on for a while. Not sure how long it will last.

Funny thing is, I was thinking just the other day about how old I feel (physically) and how young and dumb (mentally). Is there a worse way to be and want to have a kid? Too old to play with it and endure the rigors of sleep deprivation and yet so unsure of how to even begin caring for the thing.

I'll be 30 in a couple of months, which is sounding weirder every day, and I am starting to understand what a mid-life crisis really means. Not that I'm going through one or think I will (I hope), but I look in the mirror or I'm around people in college and I think -- wow, I'm older than them.

I explained it to my friend Big Time as the Playboy Paradox. When I was 15 or 16, the girls in Playboy were worldly women, sexy and confident, and clearly not interested in some pimpled youngster like me. That feeling stayed with me through 18, 19 and maybe 20. But by the time I was able to drink and on through 25 and the present, I think of those girls as young girls, shallow and vain and clearly not interested in some dumpy middle-aged yutz like me.

When I go to the gym, I like to tell myself it's about getting healthy, but I know what I really want is to be thin, like I used to be. And I hope, too, that the fat in my forming jowls will recede and maybe I'll even look like I did in that picture of Moran and I at my brother's wedding.

Because when I look in the mirror, I hardly recognize this guy I see. I doubt he and I have anything in common. Because he's some old dude stuck in a boring job, while I'm supposed to be a young guy who's going places.