“I never want children.”
For years, I have been telling this to anyone who would listen. I don’t remember when I started having this aversion towards these little people. Because the strangest thing is, many light years ago, I used to think I would make a great mother.
Having two siblings who are eight and 13 years younger sure gave me tons of practice. Other than the actual birthing, I’ve done almost anything a mother does, from preparing their milk, feeding, rocking and singing them to sleep, cleaning their poop and a gabazillion other tiny chores to allowing them to throw up in my mouth (not deliberately but still…).
Then one day I decided I wanted none of my own. Not sure if I was traumatised by the endless tasks or had enough to last me a life time, but I was pretty set in my ways.
The ultimate clincher came after I was diagnosed as a diabetic when I was 17. First of all, my genius of a doctor told me that I would have a 50-50 chance on passing this rogue gene to my offspring. Wow. I didn’t have to go to medical school to know that.
Other than that dangerously scary statistical fact that I might potentially bring a person to this world only to make it suffer, I wasn’t so sure if I could take care of another person when I’m fighting my own battles every single day.
Therefore, in my mind, having children was out of it. Then friends around me grew up and followed Life’s path like obedient sheep. They got married and started popping buns from their ovens (some cuter than others).
I’m finding myself liking and cooing over babies on Facebook and Instagram. The only consolation I know I have not completely lost my sanity is cringing over pictures that oblivious mothers post online. I guess the saying “having a face only a mother can love” rings true. Not that I want to be intentionally cruel, but some people should not add to Earth’s population.
And I can’t believe some people. I can barely recognise them on social media anymore for they have become one with their babies. If your name is Amelia for example, please jolly well use your own picture. Bad it is that I have to furrow my brows to conjure an image of what you really look like, worse is when Amelia, Joanna and whatsherface all use a kid as their profile picture. Do you really think I can tell one shrunken and wrinkled new born from the other?
Yesterday, my bestie asked me if I was really sure I want to remain childless. She also asked what I was going to do should my future partner want to sow his seeds. Two ways to go about it, I told her.
If he really loves me, he should understand and respect my reasons and fears of having a baby, and if he doesn’t, then he probably is not the right one for me anyway. The other way is to have his baby. If that day comes however, an award should be presented to him for possessing such linguistic capabilities or conviction skills.
Don’t tell me things like “you’ll change your mind when you meet THE one” (I don’t believe THE one exists), or“you’ll understand the joy when you have your own”, or worse, “a woman is not complete till she has given birth” (which in this case I will tell you to go fuck yourself).
The day I want to shoulder such a huge responsibility, I will go adopt a kitty or two. For now at least, if I earn the title of Mother, then it just means that I have joined the nunnery.