I’m almost done complaining.

Did you know that if you attempt to type the word mocktail into an iPhone, as I did when I was sending a picture text to The Sis the other night to show her my Trader Joe’s sparkling pomegranate juice with a twist of club soda in a martini glass, the iPhone will autocorrect that word into cocktail?

It’s called a smart phone for a reason. Even an electronic device knows there’s something unnatural about teetotaling.

I went to a friend’s wedding last weekend in Fairhope, and guess what? Turns out parties are not as fun without drinks. And it turns out that some people are really annoying with them.

There are people who tell me this is all good preparation for child-rearing, then there are people who tell me (and I need to hang out with these people more) that they need their evening cocktail more than ever with two kids under their belts.

Look, this is not just about drinking. I got up three times last night to pee. I miss my hot baths, from which I emerged with lobster-hued skin and dripping sweat. I miss club sandwiches and sushi. I miss craving food other than Fritos and grilled cheese. I miss not throwing up every time I brush my teeth.

There will be plenty of time for sap, but here’s some truth: the last time I felt maudlin about having children was when I was one myself. As I grew older, I became steeped in routine and began to wonder if I was cut out for the brand of self-sacrifice that raising children requires: accompanying them to nasty public bathrooms and wiping their butts, cutting off their crusts, carrying all their gear. Boogers. Whining. Lame television shows. I watched it from the outside and thought I might be just fine sans…all that. Then I moved to New York and worked on the teeth of Upper East Side hellions every day and knew I would be fine sans all that.

Then I had to go and meet TH.

I know many people for whom motherhood is the dream they’ve unwaveringly maintained their entire lives. But you know what? I think there’s something to be said for a couple who choose (and then, are blessed with) children over childlessness after weighing both options carefully. I think there’s something to be said for two people who like each other so much that they don’t think their lives would be empty if it were just the two of them for the long haul. And I think couples who make the choice, counter-culturally I might add, to not reproduce for good reasons are brave.

It just turns out that I’m not one of them. Because once I met TH and we began our life together, I knew I would be shortchanging the world if I didn’t pass him down to future generations. On our drive back from the wedding, I got a burst of energy and started up an awesome car-dance routine, singing at the top of my lungs, and TH looked at me, called me crazy, and shortly joined in. The car was shaking from side to side, rain was pouring outside, and we were in our own little world, which will soon include a kid who looks like both of us and has our sense of humor. (And hopefully more of his/her father’s good nature, though you can be damn sure he/she will pick up his/her socks off the floor.) Now, how can I deprive the world of that? And more importantly, how can I not want to embark on this crazy trip with my best friend and do it our own way (ie, better than everyone else so that we can judge them)?

I can’t. Which makes it all worthwhile: the nausea, the sobriety, the message from one person today that my pregnancy is a huge inconvenience for her. Because when it’s all said and done, it’s not an inconvenience for me. It’s the next step on a path designed by perfect, unpredictable love.

Remind me of that in six months. Now, I have to go pee.