Please don’t tell me about it
What is it with the let’s-have-a-baby syndrome? Everyone I know is popping out children, left and right. I cannot imagine having a baby, now or in the future.
There is simply no appeal to being fat for nine months, having your vagina stretched to the size of at least a grapefruit, and suffering the repercussions of stretch marks and the never-ending battle to get back to pre-baby shape. And that’s just the beginning of it.
I have no desire to hear my child speak its first words or witness it take its first step. The time it takes to reach those moments is entirely too much work. Once you have a baby, you may as well install a 24-hour surveillance camera to your hip to emphasize how much time you will spend with the child.
I have no respect for people who are unable to stop reproducing, particularly large women who have reproduced so much that they can’t take care of themselves anymore. They walk around looking like someone who has had too many babies, most of the time accompanied by the babies, expecting the world to accommodate them at restaurants, theaters and other public places.
One more unimaginable aspect of having a baby is breastfeeding. I don’t want someone living off my bodily fluids for 18 months. It also bothers me when mothers do this in public with those special over-the-shoulder-Boulder-holders. They wear their button-down shirts and then just whip their boobs out in public like people will understand their indecent exposure because they have a baby to feed. Please find a corner!
When someone enters anywhere with a baby, people change their entire personality to become baby-pleasing. This includes cooing, speaking in incomprehensible syllables and questioning the mother of every known statistic about her child.
“How old is she?”
“Does she sleep peacefully?”
“Does she poop regularly?”
Then, the mother always offers to let everyone hold the baby. One unfortunate time, I was asked if I wanted to hold the baby.
Oh please no, I thought.
It was my cousin’s baby girl, Grace. I was obligated to say yes.
Before I had completely agreed, the entire bundle of Grace was in my arms.
Grace found my index finger in a millisecond and latched on. Then she began to cry but continued to hold my finger. My cousin rushed over, questioning what I had done to make Grace cry.
“Nothing at all,” I replied.
She tried to pry Grace away.
“Let go of her!” she said.
The harder she pulled on Grace, the tighter she squeezed my finger. After several minutes, Grace was distracted by her pacifier and my finger was released.
White, aching and robbed of circulation, my finger survived. I made my exit as quickly as possible.
I know that no matter what I say, babies will continue to exist along with all the unpleasant things that come with them.
But please consider those around you who do not find your child as charming as you do.
Contact Campus Press Staff Writer Heather Koski at firstname.lastname@example.org.