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The Land Before Kids

landI went to stay with my friend and her husband recently. I didn’t bring my kids. They have no children.

What a wonderful world to visit.

They have a French press that s l o w l y brews delicious Jacobs Krönung coffee.

They have a wine rack filled with expensive wine that they bought directly from their favorite winery in Napa that they visit twice a year.

I have a bike rack.

(What am I talking about? I still have a wine rack. It is just empty and whatever bottle (read: box) is cheapest and largest is sitting open on the counter begging me to take a sip at 11 a.m.)

They have a coffee table with expensive tiny breakable/choke-able baubles sitting out in the open.

Our coffee table was put away immediately after (the third time) my son fell backward off the couch and slammed the table with his skull.

They have no cheerios stuck to the backseat of their cars. You can walk through their house in the middle of the night and not step on painful, noisy toys. You can talk loudly, blast music and slam doors after 8 p.m. There are no baby gates or child locks. No moldy bath toys in the tub.

They can leave the house together at night. Just leave. Walk out of their house at 8 p.m. together. They can get a craving for pizza at 10 p.m. and go out and get some. Do you understand that it will be a decade before my husband and I are able to spontaneously leave our house together at night? (By then, will we even remember that we’re allowed to?)

I used to live there myself — the land before kids. It can’t really be appreciated until you’ve left.

I never (slight exaggeration) want to move back. Yet every once in a while, it sure is nice to visit. (And stay for a good cup of coffee.)

Published inPen Name Jane

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