I accidentally swallowed a cherry pit yesterday. I’m concerned that this will result in either (1) even stranger things happening with the already strange poo I have going on or (2) a cherry tree will grow in my stomach and sprout out of my mouth.
I’m actually more concerned about the latter, no matter how unlikely it may be. In fact, the idea of anything growing inside me really freaks me out.
Yeah, that includes babies.
I’m not sure it will come as much of a surprise that I don’t want children. Now please, please don’t get all offended. I’m not saying I don’t like children, or that I have any negative opinions of anyone who chooses to have children, or anything of the kind. I simply do not want them.
You may have noticed my immediate need to defend myself once I expressed my desires. This need has evolved over the past 10 years of being torn to bits in various ways when I say I don’t want kids. Since I’m not actually a heinous person who chews the face off everyone I eat (most of the time), I’ve grown accustomed to people’s reactions when my lack of desire for a family comes up in polite conversation.
But in honor of my potential cherry tree baby on a Monday, here’s what I really want to say when confronted with the top three remarks every person on the planet seems to have when I tell them I don’t want kids.
Remark 1: What do you mean you don’t want kids? Kids are wonderful, they bring you a lifetime of joy. If you don’t like children you must be evil or an atheist or something. You kick puppies don’t you? You evil Satan worshiping whore.
What I say: No no, I love children and I go to church religiously whenever my grandmother guilts me into it every 5 to 7 years. Children are wonderful and beautiful. I’m just not worthy of having such a beautiful cherub to call my own.
What I want to say: Of course I don’t want kids. Look at yours. One is eating you shoe the other just vomited on your shirt and both are screaming for you attention. I can’t even hear the second half of your judgmental rant because of all the noise they’re making. I walk around my house stark naked pretty much all the time, kids would totally cramp my style. Am I selfish as shit? Sure, but don’t worry, I’m happy. Very, very happy.
Remark 2: No children? Who will take care of you when you get older?
What I say: I know, it will be such a problem! I guess I should start saving for retirement now. You’re so lucky that you’re such a wonderful parent that your children will be there for you then just as you are there for them now.
What I want to say: Probably a hot male nurse named Sven. I’m well invested, and because I don’t have hundreds of thousands in expenses of raising a little mini mutant and putting their ungrateful ass through college, I’ll probably be a millionaire here right quick. I figure, by 50 hubs and I will retire and move into some swanky community where all I have to worry about is what designer swimsuit I’m going to wear to the pool and my spa appointments today.
Remark 3: Don’t worry, you’re still young, you have plenty of time to change your mind.
What I say: Yes, you’re right. Of course you’re right. Thank you so much for believing that my uterus hasn’t yet dried up and my hopes of future spawn haven’t yet died out.
What I want to say: Unlike you, I’m not a total flighty twit. First off, I’m not that young. I’m turning 30 this year and I haven’t wanted children, EVER. I am fully capable of making a decision and standing by it. I would never be condescending as shit towards you for your decision to start a family, and it’s really effed up that you feel the need to be so towards me about my decision not to.
In closing, I love that you love your children. Heck, in some cases I love your children. But seriously, I don’t want any. Stop trying to sell me on the idea, all it does is piss me off and force me to bottle up my emotions and then drink heavily until I can’t feel my feelings anymore.
You do your thing, and I’ll do mine. I’m happy that you’re happy. Be happy for me too.