If anyone else is a 90’s, late 80’s child like myself, I’m sure you’re noticing the insanely high percentage of your graduating class that have been blasting out children lately.
That shit is all over Facebook, and while I feel like the normal reaction should be something along the lines of “aw cute,” and “good for them,” I find myself repulsed by the thought of growing another human inside me. Not to mention those wack ass comparisons that people share like, “my fetus that I’m feeding through my inside tubes is currently the size of a butternut squash.” Fucking gross. Thanks for ruining most fruits and vegetables for me preggos.
Example here:
The most frustrating thing about having an aversion to creating a new life form is that people always tell me, “Oh, you will want one some day.” Or worse, “When you meet the right person you will want to give him the gift of children.” No way! If I meet the love of my life, I’ll want to give him a nice watch, a trip to the Bahamas, maybe an old fashioned every once in awhile, if you know what I’m talking about ladies.
I am 99.9% positive I’m not going to want to grow something inside of me, and then pop it out and hand it over like it’s a god damn toaster strudel.
Here are the reasons why I’m opposed to baby-making:
1) Investing thousands of dollars into something that grows up to hate you. I would rather spend my disposable income on Whole Foods and weed, because it’s never going to slam a door in my face and call me a bitch when I take away its cell phone away.
2) Realizing that you don’t really like it either. Do you know how crushed I would be if my sweet little angel grew up to be a conservative Christian? Like no matter how hard I tried to force my Atheist and liberal free love ideals on it, it begs me to spend my hard-earned money on sending it to bible camp?
3) The insane responsibility that comes with raising a child. If my microwave didn’t beep every 5 seconds to remind me my frozen burrito was done, I would literally starve to death. Once, I went home for the weekend and on the third day remembered that I had a rabbit, and that someone should probably feed it while I was away. I most likely shouldn’t be responsible for a little human’s well being.
4) My shitty DNA. I’m sure by reading a number of my posts you can probably tell that I’m riddled with anxiety, depression, and a terrible body image. Why on earth would I want to pass on this complex to a poor, unsuspecting child? If I had a kid, it would come home from Kindergarten sobbing because it isn’t as good at finger painting as the other kids, and because the teacher didn’t value its opinion that duck,duck, goose is an extremely alienating recess activity.
All of these above points, combined with the fact that I don’t see any near future that involves a life partner, are the reasons why kids are probably not in the stars for this old gal. And that’s okay. I realize this post is probably extremely offensive to those of you who have children, but I just want my decision to not have kids to be just as socially acceptable as your decision to have them. Plus, all my blogs are offensive so you know, you better get used to it.
Seriously though, props to you ladies and gentleman that can welcome little kiddos into the world. Just because I don’t want to do it, doesn’t mean I don’t respect the hell out of you and think your little tike is a god damned miracle of evolution. I will still support you from afar…. while I’m in the Bahamas, eating toaster strudel and giving the love of my life a hand-job.
milky feelings 