The Kids Are All right, As Long As They Aren’t Mine

Since it is now 00:01 as I type ‘since’ into the keyboard I will talk of this as happening yesterday i.e. Monday, though because I have not slept due to a plethora of reasons it, in my mind, happened today. 

Yesterday I was woken up to a phone call, from my mum. I thought she was ringing me to remind me of tasks that I had to due, so I ignored the call and put my phone on vibrate thinking I could get in some more sleep. A minute later my head started to violently shake and I pulled a vibrating phone from under my pillow. It was mum again. I could not press ‘ignore’ again. I answered the call. 

“PHIEEEEEEEEE!” I heard through the speaker which was limply pressed to my ear. Who was this person that sounded far too energetic for eight o’ clock in the morning? It was Vie. Then it dawned on me that I had to help her babysit little Boscy, my nephew, and Lixie, my little brother while mum was doing some secret work shift. (It’s not as exciting as it sounds. She’s in real estate, and not the M.I. 5.) I needed to be there for nine but I thought I could maybe get there an hour or two later. 

“Why are you calling?” I asked. My voice was groggy, my entire body was still sleeping while I talked on my phone, un-stretched and unprepared for conversation. 

“You need to be at home for quarter past nine at the latest, as we need to go to Baby Gym.” 

What? Baby Gym? I looked at my clock, it was half past eight. There was no chance I would be ready and across the park in time. Not when my brain was still semi-unconscious. I was on the phone for another ten minutes, then I only had half an hour, definitely not. Then mum texted me telling me about baby gym. It’s very handy to be told about things a couple of days in advance, but apparently my family don’t understand this concept. There had been multiple times I had been told about fancy dance do’s just an hour and a half before we had to be there. Why was I being told about baby gym just half an hour before I had to be there? So I said I wouldn’t make on time and was instructed to meet Vie there. 

Incidentally Vie was talking to a friend how I hadn’t made it on time and was hating me because of it as I turned up through the doors of the gymnastics centre looking for them, ready to run around like I had just eaten electricity for breakfast while in reality an espresso wouldn’t do the job of keeping me awake. 

I am never having kids. 

Don’t get me wrong. I like some kids. They’re cute as babies and adorable up to the age of eight, as long as they aren’t pooping, burping, vomiting or any other sort of gross excrement from various escape routes from their bodies. I just don’t want them. Kids take patience, and time. I can barely commit to watering a plant, never mind keeping a child alive for eighteen years until it goes off to explore the world. I can cuddle Boscy for five or ten minutes before I get a bit fidgety and bored and want to do something else, if I had kids I don’t even know if I would be able to keep it and myself entertained all day long. One of us would surely die, either because of neglect or we’d die of boredom. 

I need energy to look after children. I am the type of person who would create a society for the appreciation of naps and sleep, and not turn up to the meetings because I was in bed. I can not go a day without wishing I was Spanish and have siestas. A baby would ruin my sleep, even more than I have ruined it myself. In the early stages they’re waking up every few hours just to cry about food (which they will later excrete from various escape routes) or because they have excreted and rested sleep is hard to come by, at least you get the joys of napping when the thing is napping too, and what blissful peace it must be. As a toddler they seem to have endless energy. 

As I was chasing Lixie around Baby Gym, trying to be a good pro-active sister, even if he doesn’t know that I am a different person to Vie so all efforts go to her, I was wishing that he would just sit down for a minute. I could have just been like everyone else and sat down on the floor with other mums and chatted, barely watching the activities with such blase nonchalance, but I’m a very paranoid person and I could not get the image of going to mum saying that Lixie had been hospitalised due to running into a wall out of my head so I watched him carefully with eagle eyes. I had to run with him all over the place, and he did sit down for a minute, but when we got to the cafe it was a different story. Not even ‘Mister Maker’ and chocolate buttons, his most coveted things, could distract him from flinging himself down ramps and running around every thing without caring that he could have got a snooker cue in the eye. 

To have the energy to look after such an energetic child it would have to be limitless, more than a Mocha or caffeine pill could ever give you, just so that I wouldn’t have the temptation to nap while the little thing was running around doing whatever thing a stunt-person/adrenaline junkie would be jealous off, practically brushing the hands of death. Otherwise I could not do it. 

And then, as well as all those impossible traits I would have to suddenly gain to look after children I would also have to quickly learn to deal with all kinds of sickening mush. I would have to handle baby food, which I found horrible as a teenager having to sit opposite Mellie and Lixie at the dining table, when it was a round one, and watch them eat their pots of carrots that loked as if it had been regurgitated. The idea of having to hold it myself, get it on my skin, watch the child eat, probably eat it myself *gag* and then put up with having it puked on me, is an idea that no matter how hard I think about it I can not get my head around. And then when they finally get to solid food I would think it was the end, but I would actually have to live with a whole new nightmare. 

Oh, goodness. Just thinking about this now is making me run for the hills. I was talking about my day with Jem yesterday, and she said how looking after children seems like the best contraception. (hough I don’t imagine it would sell well, having to buy a baby to stop yourself from having them, it wouldn’t take off) but she has a point. Perhaps because myself and my aunt have had to look after babies and children before we’ve really considered them ourselves we therefore don’t want them and can only mange them when they aren’t leaking. Obviously it’s not the only thing, there’s a point about careers, locations and money, I want to gallivant around the world as an archaeologist before I even have kids, proving neither a good location or good money for raising small things that cost, but it’s a contributing factor to the whole ordeal. 

My point is that as of right this second I do not want kids, nor do I see myself wanting them in the near future, but even if I did I wouldn’t be able to look after them and I’d end up as some social services case. The kids are cute and adorable when they’re not mine, and they’re probably safer too. The kids are all right..as long as they aren’t my own. 

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