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.
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