I looked into the baby boy’s bright blue eyes and thought, I knew your parents before they started merging their DNA. I knew Courtney and Adam when we took 6th period AP English together. Courtney sat to my left and Adam sat behind her, the position to best tease her from. And even though Courtney went to the prom with another boy, here they were now, married and laughing and making goober faces at their little boy. It was sweet and adorable and the sweet potato fries dipped in honey made it even sweeter. They were a perfect little family, or if not they were very good at faking it.
And still, I have no desire to have children.
I’m 28 now, so babies are popping out of the vaginas of half my friends (POP!), or being cut out of their bellies, or being picked up at adoption agencies. It’s baby-making time! Time to make the babies. I am happy for my friends, and gladly buy them fuzzy blankets and cute lil’ onesies. They’ve got buns in the oven, but I do not feel an urge to make any babies in my personal easy bake oven. I don’t know if I ever will.
I am sure if I had babies I would love them like nothing else in this world and exclaim about how beautiful they were not matter how ugly their faces appeared. I would cuddle them and adore them and wonder how I had ever lived without them. I would overlook the poop and the pee and the vomit and the crying and focus on the smiles and the giggles and the hugs. It would all be very rewarding, assuming they turned out ok and did not stick pins in candy for trick-or-treaters. Even then, I’m sure I would love them and try to explain to the world that my kids wouldn’t do that. Oh, no, they were not capable of that at all!
But right now, I feel like I’ve only just learned how to take care of myself. I don’t know what I’d do with a baby. I don’t know who would pay for childcare or diapers. I can’t imagine all the times I’d have to tell my little baby, “Mommy has a headache,” and go lie down. I don’t feel ready to take care of somebody else. It is scary enough when my cats get sick. Caring for a little human who could get the flu or the measles could destroy me.
Maybe someday. But maybe not. I don’t feel a nagging maternal urge. If I could freeze my eggs at affordable prices, I would probably do so in case I hit 50 and regret never making a Pasta Prince or Princess. My mother is an awesome mother, and I’d like for her to have grandbabies to hold, but I’m going to shove the responsibility onto my brothers for now. I’m not sure who will take care of me when I get old, but hopefully the Japanese will invent personal helper robots to tend to me by then.