Why I might never have children June 10, 2009

Every Sunday, Michael and I watch my niece. For every Sunday we spend with her, I tack on another six months before I’m ready to have kids. Kids are fine when you can give them back. You can expect our first child sometime around 2031. Here are some reasons I might never have children.

1. Kids are annoying. I know this is pretty much common knowledge, but they’re way more annoying than anyone gives them credit for. Here is why: They will act like complete idiots in public – shouting and crying and what not – and then they get in the car and ask you something that’s so cute you can’t be mad anymore. If it were an adult you’d be like – “you are the biggest waste of life I’ve ever met, never speak to me again”. But a kid? “yes, that is a baby goose and yes you can put your baby doll bonnet on it!”. Any person that can have such persuasion over me cannot be trusted.

2. Other peoples bodily functions are disgusting. My niece is newly potty trained, but not so far along that she can fully wipe herself. The other day, it took half a roll of toilet paper to rid her of her poop, some of which I smeared on her back and then wiped off with more toilet paper that I spit on, all while in a public bathroom stall. (That really happened, and I am horrified to be retelling it). After I finally cleaned it all up, she insisted on washing her hands (even though she touched nothing questionable) and then wouldn’t leave the bathroom until I picked her up to get her own paper towels. I just cleaned your butt, TAKE YOUR FREAKING PAPER TOWELS THAT I HAND YOU AND GO.

3. I am selfish, so are kids. They want you to feed them, and play with them, and be their best friend, even when you’re tired. Luckily, I have found a good buffer for this. Television. If you give a kid a cookie and put on the Disney Channel, you score yourself at least an hour of laying around doing nothing. Please note that they will know if you drift off to sleep, and will wake you up to ask for more cookies or some juice. I like to keep the cookie bag with me, so that we can both partake.

4. Other moms. However annoying kids are, other mom’s are way way worse. Just because you shot a baby out of your vagina does not make you superior to those without children. NEWS FLASH – anyone can do it. Didn’t you see that pregnant man on Oprah? Seriously, anyone. My hatred of mom’s who embrace the “mommy club” is so intense that I might never have kids just to avoid them. On mother’s day, a bunch of facebooks posted the below poem. g I have included my edits for your perusal:

Before I was a Mom, I never tripped over toys or forgot words to a lullaby. I did, however, get my 4 inch heels stuck in sidewalk grates in the city at 2am and forgot the words to the minute clips of songs that I listened to during power hour around minute 32.

I didn’t worry whether or not my plants were poisonous. I never thought about immunizations. Plants – no, alcohol, yes. And actually, I did think about immunizations because one time, in New York, I may have accidently been exposed to tuberculosis. I was just a carrier, no big deal.
Before I was a Mom, I had never been puked on (false, gay friend in college, more than once), pooped on (false thanks to my hamster, Peanut Butter Crunch, chewed on (false, I used to have a dog named Snuggles, he was from hell), peed on (false, don’t ask).

I had complete control of my mind and my thoughts and I slept all night. So you’re saying child rearing is like alien abduction? Sign me up! Also, to my neighbor above me that vacuums allthetime, thank you for robbing me of the sleeping all night thing 20 years too early.

Before I was a Mom, I never held down a screaming child so doctors could do tests or give shots. I’ve actually done this before,  and it’s horrible. I’ll give you that one, moms.

I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin. To the baby daddy’s of these mom’s, I am sorry that they already forgot that they used to be in love. For a good time, please call 610-716-5698.

I never sat up late hours at night watching a baby sleep. This is because I was out doing things that were fun and awesome.

Before I was a Mom, I had never gotten up in the middle of the night every 10 minutes to make sure all was okay. There were nights that I got up every 10 minutes to throw up. It was not pretty.

I had never known the warmth, the joy, the love, the heartache, the wonderment or the satisfaction of being a Mom. This just makes no sense at all. You can’t know what it’s like to do ANYTHING until you do it. If you’re going to write a poem, at least write one that makes sense. Geez.

I omitted more than half this poem because I couldn’t take it anymore. You get to the idea. To the members of the mom club, let me just say here and now – I will never be one of you. Please babysit my kids while I day drink with my friends. If you could also make 3 dozen cupcakes for some class party on Monday, that would be great, thanks.

In conclusion, if in the next 2-3 years you hear that I am pregnant, please push me down the stairs instead of congratulating me. Once my broken bones heal, I will thank you, I promise.

And you thought your family had issues April 28, 2009

I didn’t write anything yesterday, but I have a good excuse! I broke my thumb and only slept 12 hours all weekend – my apologies.

We’re in the midst of a bizarre heat wave,  so I’ve been running outside. (I am chubby, so its really walking with an occasional 30 second jog, but doesn’t it sound more impressive when I say I’ve been running? Right, that’s what I thought too). While I run, I think about three things:

1. I hate running. Being fat is way easier than being skinny. Food is cheaper, you get to watch more TV, and you can go longer without showers.

2. I wish I liked the beach. Something about walking outside on sunny mornings makes me wish I was near the ocean, with seagulls squawking in the distance. The problem is, I hate being hot, hate getting darker, and seagulls are freaking terrifying. I grew up surrounded by 98% white kids, and it is a frequent wish of mine not to be so brown. You would think, at 24, I would be used to it by now. I’m not. I will pine forever and am thankful to be marrying the whitest guy on earth (seriously, ask him to show you his upper arms sometime) so that our kids won’t have to bear my burden. Clearly, this makes the beach my nemesis. Sorry future kids, no shore for us.  Ask her, she’ll take you.

3. I want to go to Disney World. Growing up, my mom took us to Disney World every summer that she could. I would rather go to Disney World than most other place on earth. If you’ve never been, you should go. All the hype is true, trust me.

Please do not judge me for what I am about to tell you, because it was the funniest thing that has every happened, and you would have laughed too. You already heard how I failed at being a good big sister once. This is about to ruin any chance I had at redeeming myself.

I should mention that one of the greatest parts of Disney World, is that we never had to wait in line for anything. My youngest sister is handicapped – a little mentally, a little physically. When she was younger, she used a wheel chair in the parks because it was hard for her to walk long distances. Handicapped entrances in Disney World usually meant you got on at the exit. It was like hitting the Magic Kingdom Jackpot.

One year, my whole family (aunt, uncle and cousins included) were all vacationing together. We had just gotten off of a ride, and were sitting on benches trying to decide what to do next. Out of nowhere, this huge bird came swooping down and scared the crap out of all of us. My youngest sister was terrified of birds at this point, so she was particularly shaken up.

While everyone else was all “Oh man, did you see that bird?!”, my reaction goes down in history as the meanest thing I’ve ever purposely done to anyone. I turned around, pointed above my youngest sister, and started screaming “IT’S BACK!!!!”. She turned stark white (when you’re brown, this is an impressive feat) and 8 years later, I have still never seen any one look so terrified.  My entire family exploded in laughter – the kind that hurts your stomach, steals your breath and makes you cry. True terror is hilarious, it’s undeniable. After about 30 seconds, a family sitting next to us got up and left, looking completely disgusted.

Here is what I’ve learned; when you live with someone with a disability, you stop seeing the handicap, and just see the person.  It occurred to me, at that moment, that these people just watched my entire family openly mock a handicapped girl in a wheelchair. This made me laugh even harder, and I took off running.

100 yards and a ridiculously windy path later, it was too late.

I’m sure I’m not the first person to pee my pants in the happiest place on earth, right?

She could be a farmer in those clothes April 21, 2009

Last week I was driving to work and saw an accident. Not just a little fender bender, a whole car flipped upside down, horn blaring and windows shattered. There were no ambulances yet, but two cars and a PENNDOT truck had stopped. I could not bring myself to look at it, and kept driving like it wasn’t 4 feet away. It’s not that I didn’t want to, I was just too afraid of what I’d see if I did.

As I drove, I remembered the first time I felt like that. Around the block from my house, there is a playground. It is ghetto, but awesome. It has had the same rides (if you can even call them that) for as long as I can remember. When we were younger, our aunt ran a daycare out of our house, so the playground was an almost daily summer activity.

One day, like many others, we all set out for the playground. I have no idea how old we were, but I was young enough that I still fit on our Fisher Price Tractor. It had a wagon on the back, meant for sticks and other kid farm stuff. My sister had a smaller version, without pedals.

As I remember it, on normal days, I rode the big tractor, and she rode the little one. On this particular day, I somehow convinced her it would be a good idea to get in my wagon. I should mention that this wasn’t entirely ridiculous, as my sister has always been a tiny, tiny person. When she started dance lessons at the age of 3, her feet were so small that my mom bought a ballet shoe Christmas ornament and used it as her ballet slippers. Borderline midget but with normal proportions – think Polly Pocket. She climbed into the back, and I took off pedaling. We got all of 15 feet, and I heard a banging sound. Unlike the picture, all that held the wagon onto the tractor was a plastic rod that stuck into a hole on the back. Once we started moving, her minimal weight was enough to unhitch the wagon, and the whole thing tipped backwards, cracking her head on the ground. My aunt came running as her wailing filled the air and what did I do?

I just kept pedaling.

Don’t judge me, at least I’m consistent.