2000-08-18 - 1:32pm

On the internal soundtrack: One of Bach's Brandenberg Concertos. I forget which number it is but it's in G major. If you care.

So. I told S about online journals and she was shocked. "People put their diaries *online*?" I sent her a list of some of my favorites, so we'll see what she thinks. If you'd like to try some (off Diaryland), here are a few more:

Dana: Absolutely hilarious. Funniest journal I've found so far. Her coworker (BS) stories always have me rolling, and I like how her thoughts tumble all over each other.

Krista: Very thoughtful woman, honest and open. Happily married with a baby boy.

Rob: A writer (as opposed to a sharer like me); has entertaining segments about his wife and baby daughter; also very funny. He's got 400+ people on his notify list and doesn't need me linking to him, but he's good.

No what-I-did-today stories to tell, so I'll just yammer awhile.

TOPIC: BABIES!

Many of the online journals I read have children in them. I like reading about people and their babies. I like reading my sister-in-law's old Parenting magazines. I like holding babies and taking care of them. I like watching young children do their nutty kid things in the mall. I like babies, period.

However, I do not want to be a parent. No way, no how. No no no no no.

[Disclaimer: Yes, I may change my mind. In fact, 10 years from now I may go back and read this diary and laaaaaaaaaaaaaugh because I am holding my very own squirmy toddler on my lap while an infant fusses nearby. We shall see. In the meantime, read on.]

I behold parents with a kind of awe, because they have to be so RESPONSIBLE and put up with a lot of shit that makes me want to run screaming in fear.

For one thing, there's the sleep deprivation. I need my nine hours***. Without them, I am not a nice person, not to mention I'm utterly useless, can't think, and cry a lot. Imagine me waking up every two hours with an infant. I don't see how it can be done. When I worry about having a kid by accident, I console myself that I can get a night nanny, or if I follow my mother-in-law's advice to the letter (seriously; no sarcasm here) I can probably get the kid to sleep through the night as soon as it's physically possible.

There's the responsibility. It NEVER ENDS. Everything you do must be weighed in terms of "Am I setting a good example for my kids? Am I being consistent enough? Am I doing the right thing? Is this behavior of mine going to put my kid in therapy in 10 years?" The idea of having to set limits and teach the kid painful lessons is pretty scary. It's very hard to discipline a child and see them cry and get upset, but it must be done. It's got to be mentally exhausting.

Then there's the worry. I am by nature something of a worrywart and a hypochondriac. If I had a kid, when it was a freakin' teenager I'd still be checking it at night to see if it was breathing. Everytime the kid was out of the house I'd be imagining horrible accidents. Even if the kid was sleeping, I wouldn't be able to 'cause I'd be worrying (see sleep deprivation, above).

Speaking of TEENAGERS. I look at these adorable babies, whose cuteness incites me to gurgle and talk in a high-pitched voice want to squeeze them to pieces. And then I remember. Someday this person is going to be a teenager.

They're going to be horrendously embarrassed by their parents, if not outright hate them. They're going to be flooded with hormones they don't have the emotional capacity to handle. They'll probably start smoking and getting drunk at parties. They will be passengers in cars driven by complete idiots. And there isn't ONE DAMN THING I could do about it, as a parent. I can't lock them in a closet until they turn 25. I just have to let them out into the world and hope that I raised them right. Ugh, ugh, ugh. No.

On a more selfish level, I want Poindexter all to myself. I didn't get married so I could start a family; I got married to be stuck with Poindexter forever and ever, amen. I really, really enjoy spending time with him. My favorite thing to do, in fact, is snuggle in bed on weekend mornings and talk until my empty stomach insists I get some breakfast (which it does, rather loudly). It's bad enough that life keeps us so busy we have to declare certain weekends "stay at home and nobody comes over" weekends; imagine if we had children? The concept of "time alone" basically disappears. And I just don't want that.

Perhaps one day all of this will seem less important than having a fulfilling family life. We'll see. Until then, I'll leave the child-raising to everyone else, thank you, and I'll keep reading about it, offering free babysitting, and cheering you on.

*** Yes, NINE. Almost every night. You only *think* you're well rested on six. You can call me lazy, but I only get one cold a year now, tops, and it never lasts more than three days, so I'm doing something right.

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