This post will come off cranky.
Believe me, I don’t mean it that way.
To those of you who clicked on this link hoping to see some sort of announcement, I hate to disappoint you, but no, I’m not pregnant.
And I know that once I have a baby I will love it and hug it and call it George. Well, maybe not George, but you know, I’ll do all that mushy baby stuff.
But this post is really just another confessional from the depths of my blackened soul:
I don’t like babies.
Don’t get me wrong; I like your baby. I like holding it and talking to it and giving it back to you. Your baby is beautiful and lovely and special, and I’m really not being sarcastic. Babies are beautiful miracles.
It’s just that I’m glad it’s your baby, and that I can go to bed and go to sleep and stay in bed all night and not have to get up to feed said baby.
This is one of those things that makes me feel weird among women.
I think there’s an expectation that getting married means you want babies. And that time will make you want babies. And that some sort of clock inside you will tell you when to MAKE THE BABIES. But not everybody is like that.
Don’t get me wrong, it is PERFECTLY OKAY to be like that. I am not dissing it. If you want babies, have the babies.
But even though Ben and I do want to have a few kids at some point (no, not now), I don’t think there will ever be a moment where all of a sudden I’m like HOLY CRAP CLOCK TICKING MUST HAVE ALL THE BABIES NOW ZOMG. Just not me.
Also, I happen to know for a fact that there are those among you who have borne a child who don’t actually really love babies or cute little clothes or fuzzy little baby toys or any of that. You love your kid, sure, but you’re not really a “mommy” type. Your blood curdles at the sight of a minivan and you don’t make your own baby wipes.
I’d like to formally use my authority as a fellow human being to absolve you of any guilt you feel regarding that. Go ahead and buy those baby wipes, go ahead and dream of the day when your littlest will be out of diapers and you won’t have to wash poop off your hands anymore. Dream.
Anyway, I’m not really sure what it was that prompted me to write this, but maybe it’s a piece of the whole being-comfy-with-my-identity thing. I mean, I love plenty of classically “girly” things, like pedicures, cute clothes, hair stuff, etc.
But I also love science fiction, space ships, movies with explosions (but only if they have good, thoughtful characters), theology, talking about random abstract ideas, and computer games. And I would say that these things are much more reflective of my identity than the previous list. I also don’t salivate over babies.
So maybe this is just my way of saying “Hi there, world. I’m weird. But I’m okay with that.”
And who knows?
Maybe one day I’ll wake up WANTING TO HAVE ALL THE BABIES.
It could happen. Probably not, but it could happen.