Kitchen decor, sans highchair

I want a bright green kitchen with black-and-white checkered flooring. Laminate’s fine; I’m not trying to break the bank here. Sky blue and lime green dishes will show through the windows of my white, country-style cupboards. My countertops will be poured concrete with flecks of different colored glass shards. I’ll do this by myself, though my brothers may help me.

Mismatched chairs. Check it. [Image courtesy of deerbunny.blogspot.com
Remember the table Monica had in her kitchen in Friends? Same concept here. Mismatched chairs. Mismatched cushions. But my table will be painted white. With a sky blue tabletop. Then a round piece of glass. Again, I’ll do this shit myself.

Because Monica and Chandler moved out to the country when the twins were born, a highchair never joined the apartment’s dinette set. Same concept here.

There will be no highchair. Or at least not until I am good and ready for one.

I’ve lost touch with several people over the years. It’s okay. If I wanted to continue a friendship, I’d call, text or message you every once in awhile. But here and there, I’ll “creep” on someone I haven’t seen in years.

My jaw dropped today.

The girl who was my best friend from kindergarten to third grade is due this week. As in, her baby is due this week. As in, she’s going to be a mother. 

There will be a highchair at her table, wherever that may be, a diaper bag to accompany her purse and a carseat in whatever car she’s driving now.

I hope she and her boyfriend can be together and raise this child as a family. I wish them the best. But shit. We’re the same age. The thought of having a tiny human being in my realm of responsibility is enough to make me panic every month, even if/when I have absolutely nothing to panic about.

I need these crazy college years right now.

I need to get drunk on the weekends and forget about my day-to-day responsibilities and refrain from creating a new one.

I need to figure myself out before procreating.

I need to have my career and my own life.

I need to take care of myself.

I need to actually fall in love.

I need to be ready for a child. Sometimes children really are blessings in disguise, but I’d rather endure Aunt Flo’s visits right now. (Then I get to use The DivaCup –– sorry, had to squeeze this bit of self-promotion in here.)

I don’t need someone holding me back. I’ve had that in the past. I’m done with that. And if I can prevent the the presence of an anchor keeping me down, you’d better believe I’m going to.

Someday I won’t be afraid of pregnancy anymore. Someday I’ll be in love with someone and I’ll be ready.

Right now I just want to be a driven, self-centered college student dreaming of the decor that will someday be in her very own kitchen. Sans highchair.

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