Who's got baby fever?

Now before you jump to conclusions I need you to do one thing.

Sing 'Who's got baby fever?' to that punchy latin conga line beat and repeat it several times whilst shaking your bum and doing the conga arms.

Okay now that you've done that we can move on. You can go ahead jump to your conclusion and assume that it's me. But you'd be wrong. For the first time in a long time I don't want babies. At least not now. At some point in the nebulous future I'd be willing to entertain the notion of squirting a child out, maybe even more than one. I mean I don't want a litter or anything, just a nice smattering of offspring.

I think what I'd really like is to open the door to my apartment one day and find a baby in the hall. It'd be super convenient if Sex-on-Skates could find it at the same time. Then we'd have an equal obligation to spend the rest our so-attractive-it's-painful lives together raising said child. At this point I think that's the best bet I've got, well at least until peach season and then we can repeat the sex-pie.

It seems that every female I know and love and cherish is hankering to have a child right now. Someone buy me a cabbage patch doll. That can be my baby. While all of my girlfriends are preggers and oohing and cooing over baby stuff, and after I've bought them all duck-themed things, my baby can be hatching at the cabbage patch. Wherever that is. There's a Toys-R-Us down the street. That works right? Hey, it may not be real, it may not be alive but damnit I cannot be left out in the cold so that my nuturing, maternal instinct can wither up and die. At least I'll have something to mother.

That and I can totally tote it to the bar with me.