Just when you thought I had run out of things to say...

I have alluded to this before, but I'll go ahead and say it again: barring some crazy birth-control foul-up, Al will be an only child. Before he was conceived, we knew we only wanted one. In a world full of unwanted, abused, and neglected children, I felt a little selfish breeding another one just so that I could experience that mysterious thing called Pregnancy and Childbirth (For the record, it wasn't all that. Just saying.) and so the Mr. could fulfill his desire to create a child from his own flesh. Oh, and yeah, we really wanted to grow our little family and share our infinite knowledge and wisdom and love for Taco Bell and video games with a wee one.

And so we did. And while Alex is the very light of my life, motherhood did not come easily for me. Sure, we inadvertently fell comfortably into attachment parenting through co-sleeping and somewhat extended breastfeeding, but when you really break it down, that was a matter of survival. Being a mom is the hardest thing I've ever done. One might argue that it is because I waited to have him until after I had lived several years of my free and easy adult life or because I am a perfectionist with control issues or because of some other trumped up reason.

I think it is just the way it is. I still use the Overcrowded World Rationale to try to justify my decision to have only one child to others, and I'll often throw in some jazz about how we just don't have the resources or energy to responsibly raise another child. But the truth is that I just don't long to have more babies.

A few months ago, I sat at a bar with a group of girlfriends when one of them asked if the Mr. and I were going to try to have more children.

"No way," I answered.

"Oh, you'll see. You'll get "baby fever" again," someone predicted.

"No, I won't. I've never had "baby fever." I didn't have "baby fever" when I got pregnant with Alex."

And it's true. I've never had "baby fever." We only knew that we wanted to be someone's parents. We wanted to share our home and our love with a child.

And as much as I love that little dude, I never, ever get the urge to have another one. I never look at the back seat of our big ol' honkin' irresponsible SUV and think, "let's fill this baby up with kiddoes!" I never hold a newborn and feel envious of its parents. I never hope for, or even pleasantly entertain the consequences of a missed period. Instead, on the first late day, I freak the hell out.

But that's not to say that I'm not thankful that there are those of you who are up to the challenge of parenting more than one child. And it's not to say that I don't admire you and marvel over the fact that you make it look so damned easy. And it's not to say that I don't celebrate with you over that second pink line, or hope for you, or feel your disappointment over yet another uneventful month, or grieve with you over your miscarriage.

Because I do.

Escape

Lately, I've been craving two things: strong black coffee, and Shiraz. So when my sister-in-law (one of only two people from My Real Life who read this site) suggested that we spend Sunday afternoon at a nearby winery, I was elated. After spending all of Saturday and most of Sunday morning enduring wave upon wave of toddler tantrums, I would have agreed to an afternoon of dusting her knick-knacks if wine were being served. In fact, when she and our other friend came to pick me up, I may or may not have been standing in my front entry waiting for the sounds of her car pulling into my driveway, much like a child listens for the jingle bells of Santa's reindeer on Christmas Eve.

We drove the 45 or so miles to one of the most po-dunk towns in Texas. Actually, it's metropolitan compared to my hometown, its neighbor, but whatever. This town's claim to fame for the last 50 years or so has been its title of Headquarters for the Largest Chicken Producer in the U. S.

And now, they have a winery. A darned cute one, too.

It seems that some lunatic from O. C. decided that he wanted to relocate and establish a winery far from the traffic and hubbub of Southern California. Let's see...trade in a few hours of congested, yet billboard-free traffic in Southern California, along with its damned-near perfect year-round (OK, so lately, it's been a little toasty) weather, miles of beach, the PC-effing-H, In-n-Out, IKEA, real shopping malls, and online grocery shopping for (C)Hickville, where the nearest "mall" is about an hour away, one grocery store chain monopolizes the market, and your best bet for finding a decent fast food burger and shake is at Dairy Queen?

Frankly, I don't see the rationale, but since we now have another source for decent wine close to home, I'm not going to argue.

For five measly dollars, we enjoyed a tasting of 3-4 generous samples each. We ordered glasses of our favorites and copped a good ol' Sunday afternoon buzz. The atmosphere was charming, the tapas were perfect, and the wine was excellent.

More than once, we marveled at the idea that this is here.