Did I just buy a baby?

Awhile back, I lied to someone at Target about being pregnant and carried on a rather lengthy discussion about due dates, genders, and all kinds of things I should not have been talking to a stranger about. To date, this is about the longest amount of time I’ve thought about me actually being pregnant. Sure, I mean, I know children who are brought into this world—marinated so quietly inside of ladies I know and love—I just don’t spend copious amounts of time thinking about myself being pregnant. Because this would make me a crazy person.

This, of course, all changed last night. (Why would I blog about something unless it’s topical? Do you know me?) Spoiler alert! I wasn’t impregnated. Sorry to ruin the surprise, but let’s just get that out of the way. I had a dream about being pregnant. This was oh so very strange as A) I never consider myself being with child (such an odd phrase but one I can't leave well enough alone) and B) I rarely dream.

Clearly, my subconscious was trying to tell me something last night. And it made me laugh, because I've already been placing too much mental anguish on a piece of furniture.

That's right, a couch.

I had a brand, beautifully new couch delivered to me this morning. And my brain, though it finally let me purchase and then get excited about (yes, in that order) the couch, wasn't done letting me ponder the intricate life decisions hanging on that couch purchase.

Two Saturdays ago, I sat in a deep, brown, microfiber couch--my rainboots dangling off the edge. It was nearly 10:00 at night, and I'd been there almost an hour. On the same couch. I knew that I looked like a crazy person, but I sat there, thinking. I knew I loved the couch, but the longer I was there, the more unreasonable my assignment of future plans and pressure I placed on this purchase.

It wasn't about the money. (When you pay more for car insurance in 6 months... cost becomes somewhat relative.) You see, I've been in Boston almost 3.5 years, and a inviting such a solid piece of furniture into my life seemed to indicate a fierce level of commitment I wasn't sure I wanted to make. True, I have no plans to leave Boston, but I'm too forward thinking not to consider the ramifications of such a purchase in my life. So buying a piece of living room furniture--a piece that says "Hi! I'm staying here for awhile!"--threw me into a mental jambalaya.

I knew I should buy the couch. I'd thought about it every day for a week. (Sneaky to have an IMAX 3D theater in a furniture warehouse and then force you to wander through the store to exit.) I knew that I couldn't walk away--but I was paralyzed by the future. At heart, I knew I should (and would) commit to the couch, but one very funny phone and text conversation later, I proved I wasn't just a gargoyle perching in the warehouse and took a leap into the unknown. I threw down the cash and walked away pleased.

I haven't had a minute of buyer's remorse since, but apparently my subconscious is still noodling around the idea of being attached to something with so much meaning. Commitment issues, much? BAH.


Is my behavior or thought process irrational? Have you ever assigned too much meaning to something? How'd it end up? And also--who wants to come stay with me now? I have a decadent couch for you to rest your head upon.

And baby, I'm going to be here awhile.