Some people my age coo over little babies and small children, gushing over how much they want a kid of their own. Me? I avoid kids like the plague. I never want to have any. Here’s why:
1. Giving birth sounds painful. Personally, I don’t like to put myself in situations where unbearable amounts of pain are inevitable. Plus, do you even know how many times pregnant ladies have to get jabbed with needles to have their blood drawn or whatever those doctors insist on? A lot. And I really don’t like needles (I cried when I got my flu shot, which didn’t even hurt) so why would I willingly put myself in a situation such as this?
2. When your baby is in the beginning stages of it’s life, the doctor has to get all up-close and personal with you to perform an ultra sound. Now, I’d be perfectly fine with having gel squeezed onto my stomach, but in the beginning of a pregnancy, that isn’t how the ultra sounds are performed. I know this because my mother was recently pregnant with one of my little sisters. I don’t think I like the idea of a complete stranger getting that close to me.
3. When babies are babies (and under the age of, say, eighteen?) they like to cry and throw tantrums for no reason. I like for people to straight up tell me what their problem is, and babies seem to be incapable of speaking any form of proper English until they’re at least in middle school. (And, unfortunately, their dialogue then contains some immature words which I prefer not to hear.) Who wants to deal with alien babble and crying fits that could be caused by any number of petty issues, like hunger or sleep-deprivation? Not this girl, that’s for sure.
4. Children expect you to feed them, and I was not blessed with the cooking skills that are necessary for this task. Seriously, grilled cheese and burnt/under-cooked scrambled eggs are the extent of my cooking skills. Also, I have a hard enough time remembering to feed myself, so any children of mine would undoubtedly starve until they found a way to prepare their own food.
5. Kids make gigantic messes and don’t properly clean them up. I can handle some clutter here and there, that’s not a big deal. But trash and food remains? Gag. Children for some reason don’t yet understand how gross it is to leave messes everywhere. Sure, they can be trained to tidy up their toys every once in a while, but toys aren’t the only things that they drag around the house. And besides, the toddler version of cleaning is just plain sad. Haven’t they ever heard of organization?
6. Your belly expands and you gain weight like a buffalo. Actually, I don’t know how quickly buffaloes gain weight, but I do know that they’re fat and that’s the point here. I don’t want my body to stretch out to the point of no return just to grow a child in my stomach! Chances are, within a few years, the kid would drive me completely insane, and in the end, the weight gain and flabby skin just wouldn’t be worth it.
7. I like my sleep. Babies don’t care who is sleeping, they drag entire households of people out of their dreams multiple times throughout the night. My solution for this would be to buy a good pair of earplugs, but then how would I hear my alarm in the morning? Or what if something was really wrong with the kid, and I completely ignored their cries for help? That would be tragic. (That last statement was completely serious, though it may have sounded sarcastic, depending on how you read it in your head.)
8. Bucket list items are nearly impossible to complete with a kid on your hip. You can’t go cliff diving whilst rocking a baby. You can’t go on tour with a band if you’ve got a screaming banshee for a child. You can’t run a marathon pushing a stroller. (Well, I guess you could, but running a marathon would already exert enough energy, and adding a stroller into the mix would be totally overwhelming.) Going on a cruise with a baby would totally suck all the fun out of the trip.
9. Slobber is an issue with children for the same reason that it’s an issue with dogs and other creatures that leak excess spit from their mouths. It’s all disgusting, no matter where it comes from. When my little sister giggles too much and begins to slobber, I immediately inform her that it’s disgusting and hand her off to another family member who seems to be immune to the slimy goo. How could I deal with a slobering infant every day, all day for the first three-t0-eight (I don’t really know how long the slobbering lasts, I’m just guessing here) years of their life? I couldn’t do it.
10. I don’t do diapers. Like, at all. Ever. Never. Nada. Once, my mom made me change my little sister’s diaper. It was the most revolting thing I’d ever done, even though her diaper was only peed in a little bit. So if I were to have a child, it would be suffering from some serious diaper rash unless daddy decided to step up and change all the diapers for me. And somehow, I don’t see that happening, unless I marry some guy who babysat his little siblings for his entire life and liked it. And if that’s the case, I won’t be marrying that boy, because it’s insane to like watching your little siblings, and I will not marry a crazy person. No thank you. I’d like my future spouse to be sane.*I borrowed the above picture from some baby site.
But hey! Before you get the wrong idea about me, that I’m some child hater or whatever, I should say that I do like kids. As long as they’re at least fifteen feet away, recently bathed and dressed in adorable little outfits, I like them. As long as they don’t seem to have snot or slobber decorating their precious little faces, I like them. As long as they don’t cry or scream or stomp their cute little feet, I like them. As long as they’ve got a mischievous look in their eye, like they’re planning some way to torment their older siblings (and as long as I’m not one of those older siblings), I like them. As long as they smell sweet, I like them. As long as they don’t attempt to cajole me out of my food, I like them. As long as they don’t rifle through my belongings and destroy my bedroom, I like them.