Have you ever been to Lemo’s Farm in Halfmoon Bay?
It resembles very much a children’s farm as apposed to a pumpkin farm. I was unclear on the process… was I supposed to search the grounds for a pumpkin to take home or a child? Hmmm….what type of child should Pash and I take home today, the one pouting in the wheel barrel? The one picking up the goat’s dropping’s in the petting zoo
mistaking the poo for a mid-day snack? Oh, how about the one that is standing on the hay stack screaming like the entire world is coming to an end. Quick, someone ANYONE…just give the kid a cookie or a shot of patron. One of Pash’s friend’s son turned two yesterday, and to celebrate we drove all the way down to Lemo’s Farm. We were the only couple there that did not have children, and even worse…we weren’t married. Luckily, I managed to put myself together enough for a Sunday morning hiding all the sin a single woman in her 20’s experiences in her weekends in San Francisco. This includes sleepless nights at raves, binge drinking till my liver gives out at the hospital and hording off all the pawing men at the strip club as I leave work. OR even worse, I had to hide the fact that Pash and I were plotting how to infect their children with all the evils that I clearly embody.
Grinning and bearing two hours of “mmmmmm this tastes so good…you have some,” “oh, I’m surprised you and Pash are still together, when are you getting married?” “Don’t put your finger in her food honey,” “I am not going to stand in the train line for 60
minutes,” and “oh, you must be too young to understand what we’re talking about” in birth control city was enough for me to realize that I just enjoy reading about other people’s life with kids…. I’m not ready to embark on my own path of motherhood. I’m not entirely convinced that I will ever reach that moment of wanting to embark on my own path, but who knows. I spent the majority of my child hood playing house – that say’s something. Right?
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