When Did I Know I Wanted Kids?

I signed up for July's NaBloPoMo. I did this a month or two ago, but was rather unsuccessful at writing every day. I started off this month pretty well, but when we put our condo on the market last week we had to stay out of it as much as possible so that people could view it. Blogging on my phone just isn't the same as sitting down to type.

I have been looking forward to this week's set of NaBloPoMo questions as they relate to children and parenting. Today's question: When did you know that you wanted or didn't want to have kids?

This one stuck out at me when I looked over the questions last month. When did I know I wanted kids?

I can't exactly pin point a time when I didn't want them. I guess growing up as a girl, playing with dolls, and pretend house is what made me want a family of my own. It definitely isn't other people's children. I have a hard time tolerating them.

I did go through phases of doubt in my adolescence and young adulthood. Did I really want them? Wouldn't it be nice to sleep in when I wanted? Go where I wanted and where I wanted? Not be bothered with tantrums, tween angst, and homework on subjects I don't remember anything about?

The answer always turned into a yes.

I wanted a squishy baby to cuddle. I wanted to be greeted with a toddler running up to me yelling "Mommy!" as I entered a room. I wanted to watch my kids learn as they figured out the world.

I have my moments of wishing I had the luxury of sleeping in or going out with a group of friends without having to be back home by 7pm for bath time, or taking a last minute trip to Mexico. But watching Baby G grow, learn, and seeing him smile when I peer over his crib in the morning more than makes up for that.