Sure, kids are cute.
I mean, look at them. With their dolls and trucks and…whatnot. Look at them, in their overalls and their little dresses and curls and skin as yet undamaged by the sun and all this shit we insist upon spewing into the atmosphere. I just don’t want to clean up after them.
All my life, I’ve been told I’ll want children someday. When great-aunts asked the young Newsbunny how many children I wanted and I replied “none” they laughed and said “you’ll change your mind.” When I got a bit older, and I said I didn’t want children because didn’t like them, I was told, “It’s different when they’re you’re own.” Kids my age would play house, and I would be bored to death. My dream was to be a writer with my own apartment and an all-black wardrobe and a neighborhood bar. I got an A in Woodworking and a C in Home Economics.
A commenter here pointed out my hesitation may be due to being the oldest of four siblings, the oldest cousin, and the oldest child in the neighborhood growing up. I spent my childhood changing diapers, getting the younger siblings to school, and babysitting. I would hide in the backyard shed with a book for peace. Maybe I don’t want to do all that again. Perhaps I’m expelling any mothering instincts I have on my cats. Perhaps this is a form of Darwinism in action — what is the point of passing on epilepsy, spatial learning problems, heaviness, and anxiety and depression to another generation?
Not insignificant is my upbringing. Without going into depressing details and ruining your day, there’s a reason I live three states away from my family. I wouldn’t associate with my parents if I wasn’t related to them. If I had children, I wouldn’t leave them alone with them. None of my siblings have children. The youngest is thirty. I find that telling.
Plus, I adore my freedom. I see my friends get married, and I see them get pregnant as quickly as possible, and I wonder — why? Why are you doing this? The earth is extremely crowded. No one is going to suffer if you don’t reproduce. Why would you give up the freedom to go out whenever you want, go away whenever you want, pick up and go whenever you want, work wherever you want, be whatever you want? I am unwilling, in other words, to have my life circle around someone else’s. Please don’t think I’m disrespecting anyone’s choice to have children. Rock on. I love my friend’s kids. I’m happy to see them go home.
The worst argument I’ve heard for having kids is “who’s going to take care of you when you’re old?” Seriously? First off, I’m a fan of the late Dr. Kervorkian, and plan on offing myself when shit gets that bad, and second, what a horrible argument for creating new life.
I’m going to be 38 next month. I’m waiting for that alleged biological clock to start ticking. I’ve been waiting for a decade. It ain’t there. I hear a baby cry and my mouth involuntarily sets in a hard line. Is something wrong with me?
