ribbons undone

I had a minor setback to my entire women’s liberation thing this past Sunday, which is a shame because I was really on a roll for a while there. I think I have done an admirable job of piecing and fixing and maintaining things in this apartment since I moved in October, but there are just some things I have no talent or knack for. I am completely lost when it comes to nuts, bolts, drills, and screwdrivers (unless we’re talking vodka and orange juice).

Just last night, I opened a box of matching black shelves to fill a gap in the living room just above the armchair. It has bothered me for months that this space of wall is empty and it was time to fix that. With screwdriver in hand (the tool, not the drink), I rotated that white plastic anchor into the wall with such gusto, I saw the paint chip. Not that this would discourage me or anything. I kept at it until I couldn’t anymore (or maybe my arm gave out) and realized there was nothing more I could do. Not even remotely flush to the wall. Never did it even occur to me that I might need a power drill to get the job done.

So I stepped back from the wall, examined my bang-up job, and poured myself a tall glass of wine.

I guess this is when it might be useful to have a reliable handy man on speed dial.

In other news, I have spent the last few days surrounded with good friends and their children. It was interesting to see the women I’ve known for years in their new(ish) roles as parents. On Sunday, I visited a friend and her beautiful six-week-old baby girl. Though I could tell she was thoroughly exhausted, it was wonderful to see how completely enthralled she was by this little, fidgety nugget wrapped in a cuddly onesie. It took just five minutes in a room with my friend and her new daughter to realize how strong that bond really is. Last night I saw a different friend and her adorable 18-month-old son (at what point are we supposed to stop counting months? I have no idea). The experience was obviously a bit different (yogurt throwing, crying, funny faces) but the feeling I had when I walked away was the same: I can’t wait to be a mommy.

It’s strange that I have these thoughts in the first place (lack of partner notwithstanding). I was always the girl with the backpack and the dreams of opening up a bed-and-breakfast in a tiny village in Italy. If you had asked me a few years ago if I ever wanted children, my answer would have been “some sunny day” because I was planning Phish tour and European adventures and anything but life’s big decisions. But lately, I find I’m not completely put off by screaming children anymore. In fact, they’re really kind of cute.

That being said, I have no intention of having a child of my own anytime soon. I’m loving this selfish stage in my life far too much at the moment.