Baby Fever

The past two days have been warm and sunny, after what feels like years of cold and misery.
Just last weekend, I spent a few minutes out in the biting cold, with the kind of wind that cuts right through you and makes your fingers work in slow motion. I came inside to a blissfully toasty and wind-free room and declared, "Global Warming, my ass!"

But with the temps in the 70's the past two days, it has triggered a different season inside my body and mind: Baby Fever.
It's this time of year that babies are cute again, and I find myself wondering how I could sneak $300 out of the grocery money to buy donor sperm.
Puppies, kittens, chicks, goats, guinea pigs, baby rabbits...
Even the seed catalogs start to get to me. I begin frantically designing, sketching and plotting flowerbeds, gardens, fruit tree orchards, and berry patches.

I suppose there is a reason I am hard-wired to behave like this every spring. I imagine in our hunter-gatherer-agricultural past, I would have been admired for my enthusiasm to reproduce, to nurture, to plant, and to grow anything and everything this time of year.
But in my modern world, I am not admired for my inability to put down the graphing paper.
No one is impressed by the number of hours I can spend lurking on Petfinder.
Ron gets nervous when I create errands that have me driving anywhere near River Road, which is where the Canine Adoption Center is located.

Much like an addiction, I was required to quit cold-turkey. It was a lot easier than I thought it would be. (But then, I have quit this addiction hundreds of times)
After an adjustment period, I found myself walking into The Exotic Jungle just to prove that I could do it.
Then I found myself inventing excuses for going into Petco- "My sister's dogs like a treat they only sell there..." or "My daughter needs bedding for her rats... I think."
Before I knew it, I was checking out 'forbidden' websites late at night and trolling the Bulletin Board's 'give away' section.
Even after all that, I thought I could handle it, until I went to walmart and was accosted by the Free Kitten Guy.

You've all seen this guy. He's a pusher, and he's slick. He is sometimes disguised as a woman, or a pack of adorable kids, and can be found standing next to a large cardboard box with a hand-written sign that reads "Free Kittens" (or puppies, or piglets, hamsters, or tadpoles).
One look at him, and I knew I was in trouble.
I ran to my van, and locked the doors.

"I can do this, I can do this, I can do this. Think of your family and how much they mean to you and all the promises you made, and how disappointed they'd be if you went back on your word."

I finally got my breathing under control. And then I began looking around in the van for a box or container that would be suitable for taking home half a dozen (or so) kittens. Fortunately, the only things in my van were a bunch of playground balls and scooters.
But I can't go back there again. I'm not strong enough to say no.

Well, I can probably go back now... I'm sure they are all gone by now, anyway.... Sweetie, can you fetch me the cat carrier from the garage? Tess, would you like to run to walmart with me?

Oh, I've got it bad.