Let me say right up front, since we're getting to know each other here, that I desperately want a child. Been busting my ass - literally and figuratively, my ass and my lady parts - for 3 years to be in a family way. There. That's established. Now back to confessing.
I don't seem like a woman that would be baby-crazy. In a lot of ways, babies drive me crazy.
- When I go to Disneyland with my gay best friend (if you don't have one of these, I highly recommend looking into getting yourself one - throughout this he has been invaluable) I want to get on the rides as quickly as possible. I avoid Fantasyland like the plague. By noon, all parents look miserable. The kid's look miserable. When I am hit in my achilles tendon for the 40th time by a very hostile looking parent driving a stroller like it's Nascar hour in the happiest place on Earth, I will think to myself "WHY do people have to bring children to my happy place?"
- The constant posting of baby pictures on Facebook is mind numbing. Sure, all babies are adorable. (Okay, I said I was going to make this blog completely honest... Let's say 95% of them are adorable). But there's no part of me that signs on to my computer thinking "Okay, it's 2 o'clock, and I've only seen pictures of your baby with food on it's face from breakfast.... But WHAT did it have for lunch?!?!"
- I like kids on a case by case basis. There, I said it. Some of them are just boogers. Yes, this is almost always because the parents are also boogers. But when I'm waiting in the line at the grocery store, and a woman is talking on her phone while her child is running from line to line swatting strangers on the butt and screaming, no matter how desperate my ovaries are in that moment I don't say "what a delightful booger family".
- I have seen fascinating, vibrant women become a part of this ever elusive motherhood club, and quickly appear as though they have had their souls removed. They look exhausted and they are unable to talk about anything else other than breast milk and Dr. Oz. Once fascinating women have become enslaved by a 10 pound ball of vomit and fecal matter.
- Or worse - and if I've offended you thus far you have to at least agree with me on this one - they become SMUG. Their life before their child had no meaning (and therefor, neither does yours). They consistently insinuate (usually by accident, but still) that they are more of a woman than you are for having gotten pregnant and given birth. Clearly you are not doing something right. (And that's a whole other entry to itself. When you've been TTC for as long as I have, there's nothing you can tell me about sex that I don't know. I could win a sex-off with a porn star blindfolded and with my hands tied, and YES I've basically tried that. Please.)
That all being said, the irony is that there's nothing I want more on this planet than to be miserable at Disneyland, taking my aggression out on people's ankles. There's nothing I want more than to have my kid beating up strangers at a restaurant while I'm on the phone telling people what a great kid I have - I want to be boring. I want to have to struggle to talk about anything else. I want to be exhausted, covered in pee and vomit.
I have sworn a solemn oath that no matter what I'm not going to become smug, and I'm not going to start dispensing unasked for advice (and the most sacred part of that oath is to never utter the blasphemous phrase "just relax"). But basically, in short, all I want is to become a delightful booger family.