Labor Pains

September 7, 2010 at 12:35 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , , , , , , , )


Don't worry, this post is not about what looks to be the crappiest movie of all time.

I spent my Labor Day weekend visiting a couple of my old friends, hanging out with my family, enjoying the sounds of a life away from the city, eating entirely too much food and lounging by various pools while imbibing various adult beverages.  It was glorious and I hope all you out there enjoyed yourselves over the three day weekend as much as I did.

One thing from the weekend that I especially enjoyed was all of the little-kid time I got in.  One of my cousins has a six month old baby boy and his girlfriend has a four year old (boy as well, that poor woman) so I got to play with them a while.  The baby was having a bit of a vomit issue though so I managed to pass him off pretty frequently.  Not frequently enough, however, as I ended up having to wash my entire outfit due to his projectile spit-up.  Eh, spit-up happens.

Another cousin of mine has a five year old girl, three year old boy and roughly one year old toddler (also a girl, so the middle boy is screwed).  They came out for a day of fun in the sun as well and I swam with them for quite a while.  It was a great time and all five of the kids were as adorable as a room full of kittens hugging rainbows.  Then, as I played around with their considerable cuteness, I heard it…

As I get older, I'm able to understand this on a whole new level.

…the faint tickings of my own biological clock.

It’s nearly impossible for me to think of my biological clock without envisioning the scene from Alice in Wonderland where the Mad Hatter takes apart a watch, smears jam all over its workings and then hits it with a hammer.  That’s pretty much how I feel I should handle the internal timer that is trying to tell me that my window for procreating is ever so slowly being nailed shut.  This Mad Hatter analogy serves a dual purpose, as I also think that every nice thing I own would wind up looking like a broken mess if and when I do have children.  That doesn’t make me want to jump on the baby train any quicker.

Don’t get me wrong, I can see the merits of having children.  Hell, my own parents told me how great it was to have built-in dishwashers and bathroom cleaners and I could get behind making some kid do all my dirty work.  However, that would mean I have to shelter, clothe and otherwise generally care for said kid, and I’m pretty much too selfish to consider doing that full-time.  I once babysat for two little girls for an entire weekend and I was amazed at how they wouldn’t let me out of their sight for more than .25 seconds without freaking out.  They literally followed me everywhere.  I almost lost my mind and I vowed to never babysit anyone for that long, ever again.  I think that’s why I enjoy the kids in my family so much – I can play with them, feed them candy and get them all hyper, then send ’em on home.  It works out quite well for me.

But to have one all to myself, all of the time?  I just don’t know.  I mean, I walked past the pregnancy section of Borders last week and caught myself involuntarily shuddering, so I don’t think I’m ready just yet.  Plus it’s not like I have a steady partner, so it would basically be me and my cat raising a kid together.  That doesn’t sound fun.  In fact that sounds depressingly awful.  Perhaps if I’m still single in 10 years and I haven’t managed to fully destroy that biological clock, I’ll consider adopting.

Or maybe I’ll just get another cat and find a babysitting job.

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