Lunatic Female Relative Born During The Great Depression: “Aww…Look at you holding your niece like that. I think you’re getting all baby hungry.”
Me: “You’re saying I want to eat newly born infants? What kind of a freak do you think I am?”
Her: “No, I just meant you look so cute holding that baby. I think you’re ready to be a Dad.”
Mental Me: “Ready to be a Dad? Lady, I’m not even ready for a serious relationship, let alone ready to create my own offspring. Shut your senile yapper and go back to reminiscing about the good ol’ days when you would shine Pappy’s shoes for a nickel.”
For full effect, download “Wonderboy” by The Kinks, and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.
At this point in my life, I do not want to be a Father. Just yet, anyway. There, I said it. My secret’s out in the open, the cat is out of the bag. Everyone may now inhale in a rather dramatic fashion to display total shock and disbelief.
Seriously people, give me one solid reason why the title of “Dad” is such an enviable rank to hold. Kids are nothing but problems. From the second they pop out of the fleshy canyon of their Mothers, to the moment they’re handed a college diploma, and every single sleepless night in between, kids are one giant concoction of grief, frustration, agony, and boogers.
When I think of kids, I think of stinky diapers, spilled formula, bad third-grade report cards, burping sessions, tantrums, Dora the Explorer, detention, midnight crying, the disappearance of naps, cough syrup, spilled paint, broken souvenirs, wasted money, flu shots, car seats, ugly vegetables, and Sesame Street all rolled into a giant mess. Did I miss anything there, or is that pretty much the gist of what raising a child is like?
You may say I’m being ungrateful here, but here’s the thing. I know why I don’t want kids simply from my childhood alone. Who kicked in the tile wall of a shower because he was angry with his sisters for turning the lights off? This guy. Who was once tied to a chair with duct tape and jump ropes for his 6th grade teacher’s Birthday because he was overly annoying? This guy. Who used to sneak into the kitchen and steal shots of maple syrup and raspberry jelly? This guy.
Who doesn’t want to deal with himself all over again in multiple scenarios until he finally decides to croak? This guy.
This is the part where you want me to go all Lifetime on you and say some sappy story about how after 35 minutes of fussing, I finally got my cute as candy niece Raleigh to fall asleep in my arms and drool all over my jacket, meanwhile Thanksgiving festivities paraded on in the basement, thus altering my kid-hating perspective once and for all and finally pushing my passion to become a Father.
Ha! You wish! Instead I’m going to go all Robin Scherbatsky on you and say forget that! I’ll hand that baby girl right back to her Mother and spend my money on fancy things like concert tickets and upgrades to my snowboard.
Call me selfish, but I’m not baby hungry at all.