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Sunday, February 04, 2007

People ... people who make people

Everyone is having babies.

I know, I know, people are supposed to make babies, propagation of the species and all that. But ... babies. I think the almighty creator missed an ingredient when he was intelligently designing my maternal instincts, because I don't know what to do with larval humans. No idea. And no real desire to have an idea. I like to give them gifts, pull faces at them for a few seconds, then slowly back away to do something carefree and adult, like drive a car in the opposite direction while listening to an exceptionally dull and in-depth NPR report, or drink scotch silently by an open fire with a copy of American Psycho.

Some of the recent bumper crop of babies I'm experiencing obviously has to do with being of a certain age. I'm 26. People my age have babies. But ... I know older people having babies too. And younger people.

If Douglas Adams hadn't made the joke already, I would write an endearingly hilarious monologue here about a non-maternal woman who didn't know she was a fertility goddess.

The only real downside to my opinion vis a vis babies is that my mother is utterly convinced that, according to my Chinese astrological chart, it is vitally imperative that I give birth during the year 2010. I need to have a baby in the Year of the Dragon, or all hell with break loose; my marriage will fall apart, my uterus will fall out, and the sky will no doubt fall down. A few years ago, she was grudgingly satisfied with my assertion that I might consider the possibility of maybe adopting a child who was born in that year ... perhaps a few years afterwards, when said child would be able to form complete sentences, recognize subtle irony, and appreciate cyberpunk fiction. Now it's give birth in 2010 or face the apocalypse.

As far as I can tell, I'm damned either way, so I may as well not drag children into it.

In the meantime, I am seriously considering becoming involved with the local Cat Angel Network, despite their newsletter, which makes them sound ever so slightly like crazy cat ladies. Cats are awesome. They bury their own poo.

And ... uh ... congratulations to all you procreating people out there. Better you than me.

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