Two weeks is such a long time. Two weeks is enough to plan an entire life

Before you get married, you sort of have a plan of what your future might look like. Husband. Kids. House. You think something like, “Well, I’m 22 now, so I can expect to have about eight children, one every two years… perfect!”

And you think they’ll all just slide in according to your master plan.

But there’s another Master Plan.

What they don’t tell you is the feeling of discovering that glorious news. It engulfs you and gets bigger and bigger and squeezes tears out of your eyes and there’s this happiness. It’s the feeling of, “This is where I’m meant to be; this is what I was created for.”

And they don’t warn you. They don’t tell you to stop thinking. Or planning. Because we all know that about two weeks after that incredible discovery, you’ve already chosen a baby carriage (“We’ll see, only if they don’t come out with yet another limited edition), argued countless times over a name (“I abhor Shmelke Zalman! No!”), and even figured out how many pennies you need to pinch for the little darling’s wardrobe (“If we only eat bread and butter for nine months, we might be able to swing this adorable Stella McCartney I saw yesterday… no, wait. I’m craving another chocolate-covered sour pickle.”).

But the reason they should warn you is because you can get blindsided. And nothing — nothing! — can prepare you for the feeling of knowing it’s over. It can hit you anywhere. Shopping. Napping. Schmoozing. Eating. Walking. Anywhere. And when it does, it’s like a ton of bricks slamming into your skull and you think, “No. Nononononono. Wait, what? What???”

And slowly the facts start to trickle in. “The carriage. Silly! Who cares about the carriage! You won’t be able to give a name for Bubby. Or Zeidy. Or, or…”

And then the worry sets in. “What if I have a real problem? What if I’ll go through countless more of these and never have kids?”

Because you’re so young! And you really don’t know better.