Some women really want babies. I mean really, really, have-to-resist-the-urge-to-steal-them want babies. I am not one of those women.
Some women see a baby and think “Oh my goodness I want to hold it so, so badly.” When I see a human of the infant variety, I think, “Dear God keep that thing away from me.”
Now let me get this straight, I don’t hate babies. Actually, the few I’ve met recently have really been quite pleasant. Also I can’t hate on the babies because after all, I was once a baby and I’m a huge fan of me. It’s just babies and I exist much better if we’re kept very, very far apart.
My whole life I’ve been able to avoid most up-close-and-personal interactions with babies. At 24 years old, I am very happy to say I have never once changed a diaper. This I feel is something to be proud of, because if you can’t be proud of avoiding another human’s messy business I don’t know what you can be proud of.
As it turns out, avoiding babies is much harder than one would think. It seems like it would be a snap as I can clearly outrun them or out-drive them if necessary. But the problem with babies is, they have parents. They have parents who in most instances, are bigger and stronger and more persausive than me who want me to “Hold her, just for a second.”
As non-parent, I probably shouldn’t be allowed to give parental advice but I’m going to do it anyway as I feel there’s really only one thing parents need to know: don’t give me your baby, even just for a second. Do you know how much can happen in a second – a lot, that’s what, espeically if you hand your very tiny, very fragile offspring to a woman who trips approximately once every two minutes.
So really my avoidance of the infant crowd is not based on malice or dislike of any form, it’s simply a safety precaution. Thankfully the people who know me best only hand their beloved babies to me if I am safely seated in a very soft, cushioning chair and surrounded by a fortress of pillows. (Ok, I made up the pillow bit, but really it’s just a suggestion.)
Not only should I not be allowed to hold an infant even for a second, I most definitely, under no circumstances, should be in charge of an infant’s permanent care. I know this. My immediate friends and family know this. Unfortunately, other people don’t know this and think that just because I happened to marry some guy, I should probably have some kids or something.
This is a terrible idea. I’ve killed plants in less than two days. A poor Beta fish entrusted to my care lasted such a pitifully short time his name, Lucky, was really quite ironic.
In case people still thought there was a fleeting hope for my maternal instincts, I’d have to warn them that I often forget to feed myself and it’s safe to assume I’d forget to feed it too.
Oh and also I called the imaginative infant “it” and admittedly, I’ve been known to have a pronoun problem or two, but I don’t think this is a good sign…