Sikozu on Kids

But since I get a lot of eye rolling and frowns whenever I say this, mostly by people who have already settled down and spawned some kids of their own, I figured I might as well dedicate an article to it to let the world know why this individual is not a fan of kids.

First of all, I don’t dispute that kids can be cute. Most of them can pull that off rather well, especially at a younger age. Not all, though. That’s because some babies are ugly. No use of trying to argue that, really. The ‘all kids are beautiful’ myth has officially been shattered. But anyway, yes, they are occasionally amusing, adorable, loving little things. Just as long as they’re not mine. I do, however, have a very well founded agreement with kids. They don’t mess with me and I don’t mess with them. So far it’s been working great!

The agreement mostly consists of the following. No touching my stuff, no touching my dog, no tugging my hair, no touching me, no looking at my general direction and if possible, no breathing either in my proximity. Come to think of it, that could be why friends that have kids don’t seem to visit me much nowadays. Oh well, their loss. More cookies for me!

I always wonder what the worst part of having a kid is; the actual pregnancy (plus labor) or the part where you’re supposed to take the thing home and take care of it for the next 18 years or so. I suppose it’s probably the second part, seeing as it lasts longer, but I don’t want to dismiss the annoyance, frustration and pain that revolves around the first stage. So I will give respect where respect is due and dim both stages to be equally horrible!

Now I know what you’re probably thinking - I used to be a kid too many moons ago. And unfortunately that’s very much true (unless my parents have been playing it close to the chest). But I also admit to being a huge pain in my parent’s ass. I did things that at the time seemed to make all the sense in the world and that now seems too idiotic to even think about. It could be related to me not being the brightest kid ever, but still, I probably made my parent’s life a living hell and I loved every moment of it. And I know many MANY people who seemed to have adopted the same approach when they were kids. Little balls of sunshine? I think NOT.

Why do people want kids, really? A wish to have someone to continue their legacy? Wanting a miniature version of themselves to mold? Boredom? Curiosity? A need to take care of others? A need to do what society dictates? All these seem like they could be the reason. I imagine it is different for every individual couple that takes that leap. Except the ones that didn’t intend or plan it, of course (mock mock mock). Personally, I think the decision relates to some cosmic event of pure stupidity. A sort of presence possess your body and plants the ridiculous notion that getting knocked up and relinquishing your own life, hopes and dreams in favor of a kid is a fabulous FUN idea that would make you immensely happy. Then after popping out the kid you convince yourself that you really are happy and try to look at the good things, while trying to repress the miserable ones. Isn’t the miracle of life amazing?

The question that comes to mind is why people have more than one kid? I mean, a sensible person would stop after the first mistake. I would think that, upon having a first kid, they’d realize the hell that revolves around that and justifiably resort to celibacy. But that doesn’t seem to be the case. No, people keep on going. Generally is seems to get to around three kids – statistics I just made up. I blame masochism, myself. Or insanity. And if you’re really really lucky, it can even be both. In which case I resolve to leave it be. After all, if you’re a masochist, this path would probably give you much joy. And if you’re insane, well, you’ll probably be too lost to actually notice you have kids, let alone take care of them.

There is just one thing about kids that I understand. One truth that I can relate to, which is that making them is fun. After that is usually when I jump off the wagon and prefer to get where I’m going on foot. They’re expensive, irritating and if you’re extremely unlucky they end up being stinky and fairly unattractive, which of course leads to various personality disorders that requires therapy and yet more money goes to the trash. So, do yourself a favor, spend that cash on yourselves and on your spouses and get a Chihuahua. I promise it’ll be equally noisy, considerably cheaper and you’re more likely to outlive it.