(carefree in new york when i knew everything about parenting, but didn’t yet have children)

when i was living in new york in my twenties spending sundays enjoying boozy brunches (after taking an early yoga class and wandering through the chelsea flea market - which is sadly now all condominiums - clutching a giant coffee from the bodega on my corner) i had all kinds of ideas about what my life would be like when i had children. i would, of course, still live in the city, but i would have a giant loft, rather than my run down holly hobby sized apartment and my children would just slip into my life without disrupting my routines. they would come to brunch with me wearing adorable outfits and contribute witty, charming stories to the conversation, enchanting the waiter so that we were sent a plate of free beignets each week. they would use their cutlery properly and keep their napkins in their laps and they would NOT whine or cry at the table like all the other bratty, poorly-parented children in the restaurant. they would be like this because i was going to be a GOOD mother who paid attention and set boundaries and generally just had my shit together.