Baby Brain

February 29, 2012 § Leave a comment

Maybe I’m just in my extra-fertile years, maybe I’m with a guy who isn’t a complete selfish dick, maybe everyone I once knew is either getting married, buying a house or having a kid. I think my biological clock needs to take a sec and sync with my bank account AND my marital status. Is there an app for that? Can’t I just use icloud?

I never really cared for babies. I know it’s curt and cold, but it’s my opinion and the world is over populated as it is. Sure they’re cute from far away or in a giant flower pot, but Anne Geddes has nothing on the truth. They are eating, pooping, crying monsters with poor manners. My bother was born when I was ten years old and I was never a fan of messes. Babies are messy. Spit-up, I can’t handle it. I have a pretty week gag reflex and poor equilibrium.

When my brother was born I wanted little to do with him, especially because I was hoping for a sister. I was horrified that people would assume he was my son, I was a 4th grader! Granted, I was an early bloomer. Regardless, he was slobbery, unruly, and all the time sticky. These are the same reasons I was a cat person for so long. I hated the thought of a drooling being jumping all over me wanting to be fed, walked, and its waste cleaned up. Don’t even get me started on diapers. Weak gag reflex plus feces = lonely cat lady. When he was about 3 or 4 my mother actually lectured me on how they weren’t ever going to take him back. My evil plan had failed, although, it was very effective birth control on my parents’ part.

You probably won’t believe me, but my brother was the last baby I held. Considering he’s turning 19 this year and a linebacker with a football scholarship, you might say that was some time ago. Given this character revealing fact, you might also say that it’s odd for me to be experiencing butterflies every time there’s an infant cooing in my eye line or getting giddy at the mere sight of a dog. And my mother was just coming to terms with the fact that I wasn’t a ‘normal’ girl dreaming of marrying a prince and having a litter of brats.

Still, NOTHING about pregnancy seems like something I want to go through. Morning sickness? I have a hard enough time with hangovers. At some point that basketball has to come out, and we all know the size of the hoop it’s attempting to jump through. Have I told you about the perineum risk? I can’t even stomach it. Your vagina will NEVER BE THE SAME.

I’ll tell you what’s happening now, I’m bargaining with myself. I think I’ve spend this long scraping by as a starving artist in a lottery industry, I can handle 9 months of agony and shitting myself when I pop the thing out. It’s almost a bragging right. I compare my fictitious baby and parenting stills to that of my internet pals. I think about how my ‘mommy blog’ will be edgy, but not in the I-put-my-kid’s-hair-in-a-Mohawk way.

As you can see, there are a number of things wrong with this thought process. Number 1, I just said that I’m scraping by as a starving artist, and babies are expensive. Have you seen the price of diapers? Potty training comes early in my house. Number 2, parenting skills. I can’t be shuttering all the time at spit-up and poop, I’ll need some mandatory help, and I am still single on my tax form. Number 3, I really shouldn’t be spending this much time on facebook if I’m going to play out elaborate Mommy-Offs in my head. Because really, it’s not competition. They are all going to be bratty at 13 and do something stupid at 21 regardless the environment they grow up in. Let’s not forget that I haven’t held a baby in 20 years, I should get some practice in on some loners before I do it with my own.

All that stated, I’m feeling strangely maternal. This is a new feeling for me. I’ve long since thought that babies were more aliens than humans, so I really think I’m growing. And oddly enough getting ready for a baby sounds way more appealing than planning a wedding. Maybe it’s the fact that ever second person on the internet is having loads of offspring. Like, days apart. I don’t even remember that many weddings. Whoops.

Maybe I’m just starting to hear my clock tic and I’ve just never heard it before. It’s startling to some gals who’ve had a hard time imagining themselves taking a tissue to someone else’s nose and requesting them to blow. For now, I’m going to put a pin in this thought because I’m still technically living like a college kid. Career goals are well above holy matrimony and family planning. I’m still a bachelorette, but perhaps now I’m an evolving one.


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