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Reason #12: My Peaceful Home

January 8, 2012

I’m not a clean-freak or anything. I can be oblivious to a mountain of laundry in my room like it’s a homeless beggar on the corner of a street. I have things in my fridge that may, at some point in the last year, have been edible. I have, however, spent a lot of love, time and effort into making my apartment an idyllic, cozy place and I’ll be darned if I allow it to become a daycare filled with brightly coloured plastic Kindercrap.

There is not one day I unlock my door and don’t think, I’m so glad to be home. After a long, exhausting day at work with screeching babies and toddlers; a lengthy commute home and the hubbub of everyday life, I’m so relieved to come home to quiet tranquility.

A long time ago, I did consider having kids but it never occurred to me I would be giving up the cozy, peaceful time I have at home. On the larger scale of things…who really thinks of something that seems like a non-issue? But after going to bars on the weekend with blaring music, shrieking people, and the token drunk couple arguing outside…not to mention the screeching trains coming to a halt and the buses blaring their horns at J-walkers walking blindly across the street…Or even friend’s places where the din of laughter and talk is uproarious, and the flux of movement with people everywhere–you just smile secretly knowing you have a warm, quiet home waiting for you at the end of the night.

Whether it’s the ledge with candles or the bar with crystal glasses–my home isn’t suited for children. I don’t want to hear “Why can’t people fly? Why do I have to finish my homework? Why can’t pigs talk?” while I’m thinking “Why did I have you?”  . I don’t want Disney on my walls, I want tasteful nude paintings and 300-year old vases from Cuzco. There is many things I’m probably going to take home with me…but a kid’s not one of them.

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