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Justin BieberMy nine-year-old niece met Justin Bieber last week at his concert. She bravely went up to him in that autograph line, all four-foot-six of her (complete with roughly 35 pounds of pink glitter). When their gorgeous brown eyes met, he said the words she’d always dreamed of hearing: “Hey, cutie.” And the rest is history, as far as I can tell. I couldn’t get much else out of her between her tears, except that he’s, like, so cute!

My niece, along with her tagalong mother, claim the concert was “amazing.” I’m sure it was. That kid is a bazillionaire. I bet every possible elaborate special effect and exciting pyrotechnic trick and cool dance sequence was used. And I bet it looked pretty darn cool. As long as you could get over the constant, painful piercing in your ears from twenty thousand screaming, squealing, screeching little girls (and their screaming, squealing, screeching moms) (and that one poor dad!). I’m sure it’d be a good show to see, although I plan to forego my individual room chance to see the Biebs in order to see…

Deep breath…

Calm down…

Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose…


New Kids on the Block, 98 Degrees, and Boys II Men in concert together coming to an arena (or high school auditorium) near you!!! Yes, it’s really happening! No, I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried!

Joey McIntyreSo as it turns out, I can understand why my niece was so excited. I see the draw. But really, what I find myself more drawn to lately (apart from Joey McIntyre’s baby blues) is Justin’s big closing number. You guessed it: Baby.

I’ve blogged about this before, but I’ll write it again, because: a) It’s my blog and I can write whatever I want; 2) I don’t think you were really listening the first time; and 3) I’ve officially run out of new blog ideas. So here goes:

Forget Bieber Fever. I’ve got baby fever. Yep, you heard it right. I want a baby. A little one, a big one. A black one, a Mexican one. A girl, a boy. Who cares, really? I just want a little version of me that I can dress up and walk to school and buy Popsicles on hot summer afternoons.

As a singleton, I’m told to just shut up about the whole baby thing. “Ruth, you’re gonna scare guys away. Keep it quiet.” So, I won’t mention it on the first date. Maybe not even the second date. But I don’t care what you say, I’m blogging about it. I mean, I don’t really have that many readers anyway!

This is especially on my mind today because yesterday in church there was a baby dedication. And it was way cooler than any other baby dedication I’ve ever seen. I don’t know the family, but I want to know them. The short version of the story starts with the mom, a fellow singleton. She was working in Africa when someone told her about a little boy that needed someone to care for him. She said, “Sure, I’ll take care of him for a while… until you guys figure it out.” Well, to her surprise, God had already figured it out. She ended up adopting that boy. And then a little while later, another boy needed someone to love him and care for him, too. And the miraculous cycle repeated itself. And there she was, standing in front of our church congregation, a single mom with two beautiful boys — all of them smiling ear to ear.

Maybe that’s my story, too. I wonder about that sometimes. I wonder if God wants to bless me in that unique way. I’d get the baby fever taken care of, but the husband fever would probably be forever neglected because — let’s get real — who wants to date a single mom? Besides those 25 guys on The Bachelorette that pined over Emily, of course. No, wait, 24 guys if you take away that one weirdo who called Emily’s kid baggage. Remember that? Definitely the most dramatic rose ceremony ever!

My desire to get married exists. It’s in my heart and I’ve learned to live with it. My desire to have a baby is even stronger, and I can’t tell you why. Something about maternal instincts or my lady parts or mama birds chewing up worms for their baby birds. It’s just the way life is for me.

I’m learning to come to grips with the fact that no one can “have it all” in life. Married people can’t have endless individual freedom. Single people can’t experience the joy of living and dreaming alongside a spouse. Moms can’t have the chance to sleep in once in a while. People without kids can’t have the Disney experience like it’s truly meant to be experienced. Justin Bieber can’t have Selena Gomez.

So if I can’t have it all, I’m wondering which parts of the great life adventure I might get to have. I’m curious. I’m a planner, for goodness’ sake! I’m not asking for it right now, God. But sometimes not knowing what the future holds is really a drag.

So if I could just get a little hint, then baby, baby, baby, oooooh, that’d be nice.