Why I’m not allowed children

So I said something to partner about children.  And yes, to be fair, my bad, I forgot the super-important starting disclaimer of “not that we want any, but…”

Because, you know, once you’re a certain age, who the fuck knows.  Some kind of biological-clock-bomb goes off, and fucking boom, you switch from being willing to drop the little fuckers on the floor if they’re handed to you and poop, to wanting to make your own.

Um, not to alienate anyone out there who has children.  Or likes children.  I gather these might not always be the same people, especially about six months after you have one.  Seriously.  Different life choices and shit.  I’m actually not all fucking childless anger-bitch at breeders.  I lack the urge myself, is all, and I can see big advantages in not wanting to.  Like I couldn’t be writing, for example, if I wanted kids, because I’d need to be working right now to get enough money to drop out and play families.  But that’s just being practical.  I won’t be mean to you if you don’t be mean to me, basically, which is a good rule for everything really, and yes, some people are kind of douchey on both sides of the whole thing.

Fuck I’m a hippy.  I keep re-reading what I write here and realizing that.


So I’m 31 and I said the word children and didn’t explicitly qualify that with no, as far as I know my uterus hasn’t sent evil spawning tendrils into my brain and taken it over and made me into some human virus factory.  So my bad.  My fault.  I wasn’t clear enough and partner’s ensuing panic is understandable.

To wit.  Partner says that me having kids really isn’t a good idea.

And I’m like what the fuck, dude, that’s not very nice.  I mean, it’s true, but it’s not nice to say to my face.

So I’m a little offended, momentarily.  Having not yet realised my omitted disclaimer mistake at this point.  About the still not wanting any.  Because I might have changed my mind in the last four hours.

As is being assumed by nervous bystanders.  Like partner.  And yes, partner concedes afterwards that this could all have been a slight overreaction.

So partner says something quite snarky about how it’ll be my bits getting stretched.  And then adds torn, which was completely unnecessary, really.  I mean, yes, I know, but you don’t just say it.

So I kind of stand there looking surprised, I think.  Which I shall rewrite here artistically, because I can edit my life to be more interesting, as audible wincing, and then gasping in outraged horror.  So teetering on the brink of batshit.

Then partner says, “Anyway, you get bored with new hobbies after six months.”

Which is actually true.  Yes.  Completely true.  Partner knows me and loves me and this is true.

It’s also useful for writing, as an aside, because I know a little bit about a lot of different stuff.

So fair point.

Probably actually quite an important point, in the circumstances.  Had we actually been arguing about whether to have children or something.

But we’re not, and I’m really still just confused, so I sort of say, “Um, what?”

And partner says, “So it’s me who’ll end up walking it and feeding it.”

Which I actually thought was funny enough it deserved a post.  Because yes, that was what was actually said, walking and feeding, like we’re both slightly vague on the whole getting a dog versus having a kid.

So, yeah.  That’s the point, really.  Why I shouldn’t be allowed to care for tiny humans.  Or cats either, probably.

I’ll get bored and stop taking it for walks after six months.


Now I sound really fucking ADHD and shallow.