Children have always scared my very nature.
I've always had this irrational fear of small things, such as bugs or midgets in costume.
I have the attention span of a six-year-old, so one might think we would jive better.
I work at a cafe down the hall from a dance school and children are crawling all over the café on any given day.
Recently when a three-year-old walks in wearing a tu-tu and a pink bow, my womb practically quivers.
I hear a tiny little voice or little hands pointing and I melt. I will wave hello to smiling children and brim with joy when they wave back.
I neither encourage nor rationalize such behavior.
The sudden affection for these tiny people may stem from my state of peak physical health.
I finally quit smoking, eating meat and drinking like a I should attend meetings where I introduce myself with a, "Hi, my name is..." At least, for the most part.
My womb must have caught on.
Of course the body doesn't factor in my bleak financial state or lack of life partner.
Not to mention that I inherited my father's slender, not-for-birthing hips.
And I consistently forget not to refer to children as "it."
And I love to make up absurd lies to kids for my own amusement.
Like when my friend's little sister asked about my navel ring, I told her a stranger attacked and stabbed me through the belly button. So I decided to put a ring there.
Man, her eyes bugged out of her head when I made a hooking motion.
Or that I can't keep a plant alive. Even my cactus.
Or how my last two pets, I put to sleep. For peeing on the bed and wanting to move across country, respectively.
Still, I just want to hug these unbalanced little toddlers for emitting a proud hello when I walk by.
I do fear being near new babies. I might accidently poke the soft spot of their skull and take away their ability to read. I can't even hold my phone without dropping it.
My mother loved to scare her daughters the fact that we come from a long line of procreators. The idea of being stupidly fertile sure kept my sixteen-year-old self home on a Friday night.
If I ever do get pregnant,
I would lose my mind trying to make my baby better than all the other babies. That's a lot of pressure for someone who just discovered their toes.
This competitive nature also runs in the family. Mom had to ban the "love taps" game. In retribution for the taps, we began to pummel one another. Dad included.
I snap back to reality when I watch a child turn blue as they scream over the delicious cookies the cafe has to offer.
Or an exasperated mom eat her first crouton after 45 minutes of wrangling her squirming child into a seat.
Seeing the tear-stained faces, I remember what kids mean.
The complete inability of privacy for eighteen years.
I think it's enough for now to just work on the plant thing.
