Spartan Daily - Serving San Jose State University since 1934

Issue date: 11/4/09 Section: Opinion

I have not seen my best friend in months, but I can wait.

If at all possible, I would try to wait another couple of years before going to visit her, because she has what I consider to be my worst fear - a baby.

Call me cold. Or, call me heartless.

But there is nothing more weird and frightening to me than babies and small children.

They cry, and smell and require lots of attention.

No thanks.

For some reason, I was born with no maternal instincts and a broken biological clock, because I have no desire to have children - or even tolerate them.

When children come into the grocery store where I work, I cringe just a tad.

A little girl came through my line at the store sitting in the cart with three fingers in her mouth, babbling about something. She kept talking and drooling and looked at me for a response, but I don't speak baby.

I looked at her father for an interpretation, and he seemed offended that I had no idea what his alien daughter was saying.

I guess my biggest problem with children this age is communication and responsibility. I have a hard enough time communicating with my peers, let alone an incomprehensible being that relies on you for survival.

How am I supposed to decipher certain cries, each meaning hunger, exhaustion or irritation?

This is one game that I do not want to play.

Children come with all of these requirements and accessories and unclear directions - worse than Paris Hilton in an IKEA store.

At my best friend's baby shower, she received all of these tricks and tools disguised as gifts, while I sat there confused as to their purpose.

Even touching her burgeoning belly to feel the baby kick spurred no sense of awe at the formation of human life within her.

Something must be wrong with me.

Every day, my Facebook homepage is filled with people I went to high school with posting pictures of their homes and babies, and here I am, uploading pictures from last night's party.

Clearly, I missed the train to parenthood, and I have no plans to buy a ticket for the next departure.

My grandmother worries that she won't be here when I finally come around to the idea of starting my own family and blessing her with more great grandchildren - and I joke and tell her I plan on adopting a 17-and-a-half year old.

But one day, my joke turned into a real possibility when I met a teenage foster child living with an abusive family. He told me about his life challenges, hopes and dreams.

Continued...

Page 1 of 2 next >

Article Tools