I’m at a strange point in my life, I think. That’s kind of a blanket statement that applies to many things–you know, vague enough to open with. So let’s continue.
Specifically, I have a strange relationship with children. My biological clock has started to emerge, science fiction-like, from the bedside table that is my psyche. I’m young enough that I don’t really hear it counting down to my infertile years yet, but I am aware that it’s there.
Because of this unwelcome emergence, I have started cooing (against my will!) whenever there is a small child around–a “teacup human,” if you will allow me to reference True Blood like a nerd. I muse on baby names. I spend time thinking about what my parenting style would be. I worry that there’s no way my child can be as awesome as I was/am. I dress them in my head. I think about offering my babysitting services to coworkers. Creepy stuff, is what I’m saying.
However, I still find children pretty unsavory if I have to be around them for long periods of time. They’re selfish and make weird noises. They fall and cry ALL THE TIME. They’re like little sloppy drunks, and I hate sloppy drunks. They also sometimes refer to me as the “scary lady” when such an epithet is unwarranted. Not my fault you missed the football pass, kid. I was just trying to get home. You would look scary have an uninspiring day of work too.
And so, during these times of battling emotions, I think about something my mother said when we were walking around my neighborhood one day, listening to the din of children shrieks and laughter. She said:
“You know, Lisa. I love you girls and I loved you when you were kids. But listening to other kids’ noises is pretty repulsive.”
That’s the kind of parent I want to be. Thanks, mom.
By the by, definitely in NO rush to have children….gentlemen?