My problem with kids 28/02/2013

I’ve been thinking about whether I want to write this for a while now. I’m worried that someone I know will eventually find this blog and read it and get the wrong impression of me. I guess it’s almost taboo to say what I want to say and if it isn’t taboo well then it’s just downright unfair I suppose.

When I was younger, between the ages of 5 and 9 I had a big group of friends and we would all hang out on the same street all day every day. Because we weren’t friends from school and instead were just the kids who lived on the street, we all varied in age. The oldest was a guy who at the time, and I still do see him as about 25 years old. In reality he was probably about 18 at the most. The adults on the street used to hate us. We’d always be playing football in the street, kicking the ball into people’s gardens and going to get it and messing up their hydrangea bush, accidentally hitting their car or just making a lot of noise. I saw my childhood as the kids vs the adults, like some sort of 90’s blockbuster movie where the kids fight back against the adults to conquer the street! I can remember so many adults who would shout at us or just give us a disapproving look. I was always confused by this, we were just kids. They were kids! They probably have kids! How can they be annoyed at us? So now, around 12 years later, here’s my confession: Kids annoy me!

I’ve never felt myself really being the “maternal” type when it comes to children. I don’t know if that’s because I sort of halted my life at 14 years old and never felt that I made that leap to adulthood and so I feel too young still to develop it or because I thought I’d never find someone I wanted children with or have a family so I never gave it much thought and thus it never developed. Now I’m with my boyfriend I do feel like eventually one day I do definitely want children. Not long ago we would talk about it and I would express my desire to have a child right now! This weird urge that I wanted a baby. When I got my period, I was actually depressed. We weren’t trying for one or anyone but I guess I got all caught up in the idealized fantasy of having a cute, stress free angelic blend of both of us. However, a few days ago I decided without any doubt that I do NOT want to get pregnant at least for another 5 years.

My boyfriend already has a kid, he’s 7 years old and just witnessing what it’s like to have a child as close as I can get without actually giving birth to one just puts me off completely. Now this is where I feel I have to be careful. God forbid my boyfriend finds this blog and reads this and thinks I’m talking shit about his son – I’m not. But there’s no denying that experiencing what it’s like to have a child is very very off putting. Now when I experience this, I don’t get the joy of maternal, or paternal in my bf’s case, love and all that shit. I don’t love this child anywhere near the amount that he does. I’m sure my bf looks at him and is filled with love and other shit parents experience, but for me the halo, the bright light, the “I made that” feelings don’t exist. And it just all looks very bleak. There’s no denying kids can be a joy. They come out with the most wonderful quotes that make me understand perfectly, and appreciate wholly, my mum’s obsession with writing down every humorous thing I ever said as a child. But there’s just so many downsides to children.

My biggest problem is that they’re messy. They’re dirty and I can’t bear it. Now, this sounds gross, but I’m not the most hygienic person in the world. If I’ve not gone out then I’ll go without a shower for a couple days, most of the time I don’t floss, sometimes I forget to wear deodorant or whatever. But kids are disgusting on a whole other level. They go to the toilet and don’t flush leaving me to see things of theirs I don’t even want to see of my own. They pick their noses and flick it on the floor for me to step on. One time I was at the a friends house and her annoying bratty 7 year old brother picked his nose and flicked it on the floor and I refused to walk anywhere near the vicinity he was in ever again. The thought of my foot standing on that and it being stuck to my feet made me feel physically sick. You know they don’t wash their hands yet you have to let them press the button in the lift or help you out with baking cookies. Leaving everything they’ve touched contaminated and me nervously trying to avoid touching anything they might have touched for fear of what I might get on my hands. I never eat anything a child has made themselves or even touched. I can’t do it. I sound so mean and so nasty but I just can’t do it unless the kid is like forcing me to eat the thing in front of them. I’ll always tell them I’ll eat it later and throw it away when they’re not looking. One time my step dad’s kid made me a cupcake or something to eat. I took it and was very thankful that he made it for me but I never even touched it, I threw it on the fire later on and lied instead. I’m sorry but the thought of being contaminated with a child’s dirty hands is not worth it.

This brings me onto something else that might explain why I take a general, not dis-likening but uneasiness when it comes to children. I’ve always liked being immature. Not in a childish way but doing things that are stereotypically activities for children. I like coloring in, doing puzzles, playing games and decorating cookies sometimes. It’s just a fun thing to do. But when a child is around you immediately have to relegate those activities to the child. I hate this. I like baking, but if a child is around you have to let them stir in the ingredients and decorate the cake. I sit there thinking “But I want to decorate the cake!” as pathetic as that sounds. Any enjoyment you get from immature activities is taken from you by a child with dirty hands. When me and my bf were out once we saw some cookie making kit or something and I thought how fun that sounded. My bf, having a child, immediately thinks how fun it would sound… for his child. So I just have to go “Oh… oh yeah” and then later watch in envy as they messily decorate and smother chocolate over the furnishings. I guess it’s immature of me to want to be selfish and enjoy things meant for children. I’m not saying I have a problem with sharing activites with children. It can be fun to play games and both get enjoyment, but I hate the fact that once a child’s in the picture, that activity is no longer yours, the child always takes top priority. And that’s just how it is.

I guess this is the conclusion of what I’m saying. Right now I don’t want a child and I realised I don’t want a child because I am selfish. And that is a horrible thing to say – I can admit to that. But at the end of the day, I’m only 20 years old. I think I’m entitled to still be that selfish person. And when I decide that I’m done with being selfish and playing my immature childish games and decorating cookies with glitter with NO HELP AT ALL, then I might consider having a tiny someone who can take the top spot instead.


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