I have recently been introduced to one of my new favorite time wasting blogs: STFU Parents.
This blog accurately captures and mocks the majority of my Facebook newsfeed -- from the Mommyjackers (moms who feel the need to post some tidbit about their child on a completely unrelated status post), to the people who post every single allegedly adorable thing their child does or says, to the people who get all huffy and puffy when strangers don’t acknowledge how adorable their screaming child is, to the people who must post a constant stream of pictures of their child, to the people who must inform everyone how brilliant and gifted their child is, to the people who think you don’t know exhaustion unless you’ve had a kid, to the people who automatically assume you are jealous because you don’t have a kid. Luckily for me, my friends do not post pictures of poop messes and placentas. Well, at least not yet. While I don’t mind occasional posts and pictures of kids, as I am interested in seeing how people’s kids are growing up, some people take it way too far.
Reading this blog makes me feel like less of a jerk for not being interested in 90% of the “kid” posts that cover my Newsfeed. In fact, while at certain points over the past year I thought about having one or two children of my own, over the past few months I’ve fallen into the very nice pattern that is my life without children, and come to the realization that I really don’t think I want any. I mean, sure, they can be adorable in small doses, but to actually have to raise one? Hmm….I don’t think it’s for me. I really don’t have a lot of motherly instincts, even though kids do seem to love me, and generally I get annoyed with their constant need for entertainment. If I need a kid fix, I can go visit my nieces and nephews or babysit my friends’ kids.
And truthfully, I’m tired. I don’t think I have the energy anymore to run after a screaming kid, or to deal with the nonsense or the poop (yuck, right?) or the worry or cleaning up after a kid. It’s kind of nice to just be able to do whatever I want every day and go where I want and not have to worry about babysitters or strollers or allergies. My other fear is that I would end up hating my kid as a teenager, because I almost hate teenagers worse than babies these days. Hell, my eight year old niece, who I saw over the 4th of July, has turned into the rudest, meanest child I’ve ever seen. While some of that is raising (my brother spoils her to death to the point that she gets insanely jealous if anyone wants to spend time with him, hence her complete rudeness to me for two days), I don’t think it’s out of the realm of possibility that you could do everything right and still end up with a complete asshole for a kid. I don’t remember being rude to adults when I was a kid, but maybe I’m misremembering. It just feels like kids and teens have gotten ruder and more entitled, to the point that I want to punch them in the face. And I think…what if that was my kid?
Because you see, I am that person who gives moms dirty looks when their kid is pitching a fit at the table next to me at a restaurant, or running up and down the aisles on the airplane, or standing in the middle of the aisle in the store, or hiding under the racks in a department store. I am that person who gives moms dirty looks when they change their kid’s diaper on a bench in the middle of the mall or on a seat in a restaurant. Occasionally, depending on how the mom handles the situation, I feel a little pity. But it’s hard to feel too much pity when they made the choice to have the kid. I don’t feel that kids should be given free reign to do whatever they want just because they are kids, and I don’t feel that my enjoyment should have to be impacted just because they are kids. It’s not extreme to expect a kid to sit in their chair at a restaurant and behave themselves. If they aren’t capable of doing that….don’t take them to the restaurant. Don’t take them on a plane. Don’t take them shopping. Don’t glare at me when the kid is running down the aisle at Nordstrom and faceplants, and I keep right on walking. Some of these mothers seem to feel like I should care. I don’t. I don’t care about your kid. And believe me, I’m not “just jealous.”