I have always struggled with whether or not I want to have kids when I grow up. I’ve never really enjoyed kids and can’t stop thinking of all the sacrifices I’d be making. But when I get to tuck my sister into bed at night or drive her to gymnastics or just spend an afternoon reading with her, I realize that that sacrifice is worth it in the end. I want to be to my kids what my mom was to me. Gentle, kind, caring, loving, ever-affectionate, fun. I think I’d really enjoy it, and be good at it. It obviously won’t happen until later on down the road, but I’ve made up my mind, for the most part, that I’m okay with eventually having kids.