I have such a rough time with newborn babies that whenever I hear of someone getting pregnant, my stomach turns over, I want to vomit and cry simultaneously, and then I'm torn between congratulating them or passing along my deepest condolences.
I love kids, but I have an incredible distaste for babies younger than a year old. They are like crying, squirming, pooping, uncoordinated, head-bobbing, wrinkly blobs of goo. And I don't like 'em.
My husband and I have often talked about how we *might* consider the thought of having more children if it meant I could birth a child when it was 18 months old. But then I'd be pregnant for at least 27 months and I wouldn't like that very much. I'd be cranky. And I'd have to have some major reconstructive surgery down south. I wouldn't like that either. But, if anyone figures out how to make that work, let me know. Oh wait, it's called adoption. I'll think about it.
Sincerely,
Me. The Wimpy Mom.
And just to be fair, I believe newborn babies feel the same way about me as I feel about them. This is the face we both make when we come in contact. Wah.
No comments:
Post a Comment