Ready or not

Now baby’s feeling funny in the morning
She says she’s got a lot on her mind
Nature didn’t give her any warning
Now she’s going to have to leave her wild ways behind
She says she doesn’t care if she never spends
Another night running loose on the town
She’s gonna be a mother
Take a look in my eyes and tell me brother
If I look like I’m ready

I told her I had always lived alone
And I probably always would
And all I wanted was my freedom
And she told me that she understood
But I let her do some of my laundry
And she slipped a few meals in between
And the next thing I remember, she was all moved in
And I was buying her a washing machine.

“Ready or Not,” Jackson Browne

My friend S. called me tonight. He and his significant other are in the process of unpacking in their new, larger place before the birth of their baby.

“So when are you going to get married?” I said. (I’m kind of a nudge about this. When you mutter, “You little bastard!” at your teenage kid, it shouldn’t be literal. )

“Soon. Before the event,” he said.

“Hmmph. You’re really cutting it close,” I said. “Better hope the baby’s not premature. Have you at least set a date?”

He allowed as how they haven’t, but they did get a washer and dryer.