Women are always attracted to single dads, right? I mean that’s the premise of a lot of television shows I’ve seen. Picture it: a group of women at a park or a cafe staring wistfully at a man with his children. Inevitably one of them says, “Oh, I love to see a man taking care of his kids,” and then the rest agree.
Sure, it’s nice to see a man acting responsibly and/or nurturing. I get that. It’s like seeing Bigfoot or the Loch Ness monster or something. It doesn’t do a thing for me though. I don’t have kids for a reason. I don’t want kids. (No offense meant to people who have kids or people who are kids. It’s just my preference.)
I don’t know why I never wanted kids. When I was younger I would say that I didn’t want kids and people would always tell me that I’d change my mind. I figured that they were probably right.
They were not.
I have reached the age now where people have pretty much accepted that I’m not having kids. My husband and I have been married for over 14 years. He doesn’t want kids either. At this point, people probably assume that we can’t have kids for some reason. So they avoid the topic to prevent an uncomfortable answer. Whatever keeps them from making me explain myself.
Honestly maybe we can’t have kids. I’ve never had a pregnancy scare. We’ve certainly had enough sex that a kid could have accidentally snuck through our birth control barrier. If I were to find out I’ve been barren this whole time, I will be pissed. I could have gone to Europe and back for what I’ve spent on birth control and pelvic exams. Am I right, ladies?
The only thing worse than being a parent, in my opinion, is being a step parent. Because not only are you responsible for a kid. It it is under no obligation to love you. No matter how much you love him/her, you will never be their real mom. Just ask them.
I would say about 75% of the reason my marriage has lasted as long as it has is because I don’t want to date anyone with children. Because then I will have to hear about their kids and talk to their kids. I just don’t think I have the right kind of temperament to talk to kids. I feel all fucked up when someone takes away my potty mouth.
“Oh what’d you do at school today?” I would ask and then immediately stop listening because I don’t care.
If I was a step-mom, I’d also have to buy the children gifts for the holidays, which is something I suck at anyway. What does a five year old little boy want for Christmas? I don’t know. Cash? I hope. He probably wants his mom and dad to get back together.
It’s not that I don’t like kids. I do. I’m pro-kid…for other people. I’m glad other people want them. It takes the pressure off of me. Plus, I hear they say the darndest things. Children are super cute. I always smile at babies when I see them. If a toddler is in my range of vision, I’ll make sure he’s not sticking his fingers in an outlet or eating paint chips or something. I’m not a monster.
My mom used to babysit children out of our house while I was growing up. From the age of seven through around 16, I watched kids every weekday and on the weekends I would go to their houses and watch them when their parents went out on dates. Some people speculate that is the reason I never wanted kids of my own. Maybe they are right. I don’t know. It certainly took the novelty out of the thing. By the time I was ten, I had a whole system down for changing diapers. Without hesitation I would stick my fingers into any baby’s mouth and fetch out whatever they thought looked tasty but was, in fact, toxic. On the same note, I thought nothing of letting a child spit into my hands anything that’s taste they determined to be less than pleasant.
So maybe when other young women were excited by the idea of raising a child, I’d already been there, done that, wiped the vomit off the t-shirt. I think it’s more likely that I’ve just never wanted to be responsible for anything. I really like sleep. I would have hated to miss that. I like buying things for myself. I would have had to do less of that if I had a kid. In a word:selfishness. Selfishness keeps me from having a kid.
There’s nothing wrong with that. As long as I don’t actually have a kid that I’m neglecting.
I used to get a magazine called “Working Mother” sent to my house. This was at a time where I was unemployed, as well. I took it as a jab from the cosmos. “Yes, I get it, Lord. Some people have kids and jobs. I have neither. Very funny.” It finally stopped coming. Even junk mail has given up on the idea I should ever have a kid. I’m good with that.
There is a thought in the back of my head that one day I may have a kid. I’m still young enough to get pregnant. Certainly, if I did accidentally get knocked up, my husband and I would raise it. I also think maybe later on when I am too old to conceive, I may finally be ready to have a child and I could adopt one. I could even get an older one and skip that stage where the parent is constantly covered in one form of bodily fluid or another. I think I would be a great candidate to adopt a child. It wouldn’t bother me not to pass on my family genetics. I pretty much don’t talk to anyone I’m related to anyway and many of them are legitimately insane. Adoption is probably the safer bet.
Imagine that, a mommy blogger without children. Seems unnatural. Yet, here we are.