The Circumstances under which I Would Have Children
Boy howdy, do the childfree take it up the ass in the media. Maybe that orifice confusion is the real reason why none of us have kids.
But damn, even articles that seem like they could be flattering wind up leaving me feeling like the recipient of a left-handed…wait, can’t use that one, even though I’d be insulting myself…okay, Jewish…hmm, same problem…okay, backhanded (tennis players, please don’t beat me with your rackets. I’m not into BDSM) compliment.
Take, for instance, this piece on that most wondrous source of nonjudgmental, in-depth investigative journalism, HuffPo: the recap of a study noting an inverse relationship between IQ and maternal urges in women manages to insult mothers for the obvious reasons as well as the women who are book-smart but not street-smart enough to realize that “there is a mother in all of us, she’s just waiting to be born and it doesn’t have a thing to do with her IQ,” according to a columnist quoted in the article.
Furthermore, ”Kanazawa [the researcher who published the initial study that sparked the furor] finds it paradoxical that intelligent women apparently don’t possess the desire to pursue what should be the ultimate goal of their biological existence.”
Oh, shit. Kanazawa’s absolutely right. I need to abandon my goals of getting my racy graphic novel published, writing and publishing my other ideas for novels of the traditional and graphic varieties as well as the stories more suited for stage and screen, climbing Colorado’s fourteeners and Mt. Kilimanjaro, and reset my priorities. Indeed, the ULTIMATE goal of EVERYONE’s biological existence, especially mine since my IQ tested at around 130 when I was in second grade, should be to inflict more diabetic, possibly Asperger-y mini-mes on the world. I’ll get right on that!
All the flap, however, does make me think even more about children and the role in which they shape my generational cohorts’ plans and goals. By now, most of us so-called Millennials have a pretty good idea whether we want kids or not, and some have even gotten cracking (whips and everything, if they are into BDSM!) on that already.
The fact that most men my age have, stereotypes to the contrary, given this matter a good deal of thought and by and large decided that they’re firmly in the “someday” camp on kids is one of my major reasons for not dating. After all, I have gotten to that age where, having decided that they would one day like to do it, they are now in the market for someone who’s more than a one-night stand and would make a good mother to this dude’s genetically well-endowed offspring (or so I assume they think, having trolled dating sites every so often out of sick curiosity).
Which means I’d have to either set my sights at least five years younger than my own age (who would likely wind up heading down the “I want kids!” road in five years or so) or hope that I luck into finding a member of the childfree 20%.
Since the odds are against me, and since some of my encounters with would-be suitors have given truth to Simon and Garfunkel’s line, “A man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest,” it seems easiest to fall back on two options: the one I’m already embracing of never dating again, or playing their game and telling them what they initially think they want to hear.
Which is that there are certain conditions under which I would consider having children.
For the benefit of any and all starry-eyed Romeos to my Juliet (in spite of being twice the second titular character’s main age and, therefore, too old for that emo bullshit), here are those conditions. Feel free to message me if they’re right up your alley, tee-hee! ;) :-*
1. You find a surrogate for the pregnancy.
I’ll happily donate my eggs. I’ll even consent to have them interact with your sperm. But I am not going through the stress, pain, decreased bladder capacity, and whatever superpowers come from combining gestational diabetes with longstanding Type I diabetes. Since I couldn’t drink or smoke weed to take the edge off, fuhgeddaboutit.
2. You will be solely responsible for the child until it is of elementary-school age, possibly longer.
I can’t stand babies. And since not carrying the pregnancy would mean missing out on that rush of hormones that makes you not want to defenestrate your infant, I’d see my own genetic continuation as being equally ugly, wrinkly, smelly, and noisy as all others. And since I can’t deal well with anything that moves quickly or shoves peanut-butter sandwiches in my computer’s CD drive, it’s debatable as to whether parent or child would have more temper tantrums on a daily basis.
So I’d take a full-time job in the mountains, while you and Junior stay in Denver. I’ll come down and visit for a few hours every so often once it’s in kindergarten.
3. You are solely financially responsible for the pregnancy and resulting child.
The full-time job is strictly so I can continue to support my skiing. YOU wanted the kid, YOU pay for it!
4. However, the kid will have my last name.
My female cousin and I are the only ones to carry on our mutual grandfather’s last name. My male cousins are related to us through their mother, who changed her name upon marriage. And since my female cousin is just as disinterested in babies as I am, the options for passing down the family name (common though it is) are limited.
5. I’m still not going to marry you.
And deal with you suing me for child support when the inevitable divorce as a result of you failing to read the fine print (a.k.a., the bolded points outlined above) arises? Hellllll, no!
So, guys of the world, what do you think? Are you ready to flood my inbox with courtly overtures of love and declaration? After all, there’s a hell of a mother inside me, just waiting to be born once I finally grasp my true purpose here on this earth!
If I can somehow get past all this book-larnin’ enough to grasp the right part and put it in the right hole, that is.