This morning I awoke and stretched languidly in bed. It was likely my only cat-like move for the day — the rest will be stiff and sore, more stick bug than feline, so I made the stretch a good one.
Sometimes I cook dinner for my neighbor and her kid.
They come over because I crave the company and she doesn’t like to cook.
Whenever someone brings a child to my house, I realize just how not kid friendly it is. I mean, it’s not like I have sharp metal furniture and crystal vases and nude portraits of Ron Jeremy hanging around, but I don’t have any designated “kid” stuff, either. The closest I come is maybe a Pixar DVD or two, a copy of The Goonies (which really isn’t all that kid friendly at all when you think about it — but then, nothing involving Corey Feldman ever is), and… um… that’s about it. Even my dogs aren’t really kid-friendly, since every time they see one they feel the need to knock it to the ground, immobilize it, then sterilize it via intense licking before letting it roam freely around their abode.
This usually doesn’t go over well.
When it comes to snacks, unless kids like goat cheese or prosciutto or Castelvetrano olives or a dry cabernet, they’re pretty much SOL.
Most of my friends are already aware of the situation at my house, so they come well prepared with toys and snacks and binkies and bibs. But even the most prepared parents usually don’t think of the things most of us take for granted, like glasses. All of my glasses are — you guessed it — glass. So the last time I watched my neighbor’s daughter, I gave her milk shooters from a plastic JELL-O shot cup.
Hey. Aside from those and the oversized red and blue party flip cups, I got nothin’.
I’m pretty sure that at 2 years of age, they’re not dexterous enough to handle my stemware. And even I have a hard time lifting my chunky “Wal-Mart special” juice glasses.
And I think, as I watch the little girl shoot her 4th milk, straight up, like a champ, that part of the reason I don’t really want one is because they need so much stuff.
As a self-professed minimalist with neurotic hoarding urges to constantly overcome, the very idea that I would need to purchase special glassless glasses and sippy cup lids and find somewhere to keep them and that’s just the tip of the iceberg, my friends, because did you know that kids need clothing and diapers and cribs and car seats and even special little spoons and plastic plates and omg you can’t put that tupperware in the microwave because the toxins will KILL your baby and I realize that in the end, I know I would require a JELL-O shot glass of my very own just to deal with it all.
I would be that parent who barely buys anything. Who says, You know what? Junior only really needs 3 toys at this age because he has the attention span of a gnat, and if I only give him one at a time and rotate them every half hour or so, it will be like he’s getting a brand new toy every time. And that’s when the other parents would look at me with judgement and my child with pity and I’d go to jail for boob-punching the first woman who tells me I’m cheap.
Because I am cheap, but that’s not the point.
The point is that I just don’t want all that crap.
It stresses me out.
And if crap stresses me out, then that’s just one more check in the ever-growing column of reasons I shouldn’t be a parent.
Because, from what I hear, parents deal with a lot of crap — both figuratively, and literally.
And to be honest, I’d rather just have fun with their kids while they’re here, and simply throw the JELL-O shot cups away when they leave.
The other night my sister and I were watching the same television show at the same time.
I know this because she called me from her apartment in Miami and we proceeded to discuss important issues like why the brunette would be a better choice for the Bachelor but he was so obviously going to pick the blonde because he’s a douche and just look at her.
*I’d like to take this opportunity to say that I only watched 2 episodes of The Bachelor – the first and the last. And that’s only because there wasn’t a new How I Met Your Mother. And I obviously can’t do something productive during T.V. time. Because it’s T.V. time. Duh.
Anyway, I politely told my sister to shut up and hung up the phone because the show was back on.
A bit later, she called me again.
Kelly: Hey, did you see that commercial?
Me: Umm… what commercial?
Kelly: The one with the mom and the kid and the Jell-0 cheesecake things.
Me: You know I don’t watch commercials.
Justin: [pretending to work on his computer but snickering obnoxiously]
Kelly: Oh, well it reminded me of you.
Justin: [louder snicker – still doesn’t make eye contact]
Me: How so?
Kelly: Because if you were a mom, I could totally see you doing what the mom in the commercial did to her kid.
Justin: [busts out laughing]
Kelly: See, this adorable little girl is standing in front of her parents, and her mom is telling her this awful story about how another little girl got trapped in some horrible dark cave with snakes and bogeymen and no cartoons. And the daughter, who looks terribly frightened, is all, “But she got out, right mommy?” and the mom, in complete seriousness, goes, “No. She was trapped there for 100 years. All by herself. And that’s why you should never take mommy and daddy’s Strawberry Cheesecake Temptations.”
Me: [silence]
Kelly: And that is so YOU!
Me: What?! [looking towards Justin to gain a sense of camaraderie, but to no avail]
Justin: [smiling] You know you would.
And I hate to admit it, but it’s true.
It’s probably why my neighbors rarely ask me to babysit and why, when my sister does have a baby, she’ll be hesitant to ever let me near it. Especially if “it” is a girl.
It would be like this cartoon from my favorite comic blog, Fudge That Sugar, so aptly explains:
See, I would definitely be Kat in this scenario. In fact, I probably have been Kat in this scenario. I have very few qualms about telling it like it is. Especially to children.
They need to learn, right?
I mean, really… what’s so wrong with letting my daughter think something bad will happen to her if she eats my food? It’s MY food. There’s a reason they make children so gullible. Totally acceptable parenting, if you ask me.