When are you having another one?

I hate babies. Well, I guess hate is a strong word here. It’s not like I’m gonna cross the street to spit on a baby, but babies are definitely NOT my thing.

I used to think I’d love being a Mommy. I had fantasies of having 5 children or more, even adopting some kids that no one else wanted. A big family seemed like so much fun.

I should have known this little fantasy wasn’t really for me. After all, if I had really given myself a good, hard look, I would have seen the truth of how babies annoy me. For one, I NEVER wanted to hold other people’s babies. I would cringe inside whenever a glowing mom said, “Oh, do you want to hold her?” Hell, no Lady, that thing could blow at any moment. I’m not even sure which end is up.

And there’s another thing: have you ever really looked at a baby? They are fucking ugly! I know everyone says babies are cute, but that’s just biology. We are programmed by millions of years of natural selection to find our babies adorable. It’s a perception thing. When you really look at them objectively, babies are quite horrifying. First there’s that giant head, with eyes that never really focus on anything. So alien. And then there’s the rubbery arms and legs, totally useless and flailing. And the cries? Like nails on a chalkboard. The skin is purple or translucent or covered in gross pimples (my kid had the pimples—eew!) These are unpleasant creatures, ladies and gentlemen.

All that’s just looking at the thing. Now it’s time to take care of it. Of course, baby care is pretty basic. Feed it, clean it, get it to sleep. It sounds simple on paper, but in execution the finer details will get you screamed at and crapped on. If you deviate from the idea of normal that your baby has in her head, she will scream until you get it right. And the getting the baby to sleep thing can be an exercise in futility.

So this ugly, screaming meatbag is dependent on you for its every need. Fortunately for our species, your body is flooded with hormones that drive you to care for this tiny evil being, no matter how little sleep you get. Oh, and although the baby gets heavier every day, it’ll be years before you are freed from the backbreaking burden of carrying your little man-cub.

I should have known. These feelings should have clued me in. That and the fact that I’ve spent almost every sexual encounter of my life hoping that I don’t get pregnant. The signs were there, People.

But anyone who knows me knows that I never listen. Not when I think I want something. So I had a baby. I held him. I nursed him (he never had a bottle). I helped him sleep. I took him places. I carried him around with me and sang to him and talked to him and loved him. I am fiercely attached to this child, and I never knew I could love someone so much (sounds cliché, but shit, it’s true).

Why am I writing about this now? My son isn’t a baby anymore, and I couldn’t be happier about that. He’s 2. He talks. He uses the potty. He walks everywhere by himself. He’s learning how to dress himself. The shit he says every day is so funny – he cracks me up daily. It’s like I have a little sidekick now, a beautiful, smart kid who loves to tell jokes and help Mommy. He is amazing and wonderful, and I only had to spend 2 years in hell to get here. I now have 10 years to enjoy my sweet little boy before the hormones of adolescence take over and I lose him forever to the realms of girls and status and being cool.

I’m finally getting happy about being this kid’s mother. So when well meaning people ask me, “So… When are you having another one?” I totally want to punch them in their smiling faces. But, of course, that would be rude. And I’m a Mommy now. I’ve got to be a good influence on my kid. I can’t just go around punching random strangers who piss me off. Not anymore anyway.