I want to get something off of my chest. Will you indulge me for a moment? I don’t want kids. There I said it. It isn’t by accident. I could have adopted, or had a surrogate. Hell, I believe at one point I could have even convinced a friend of mine to give me her kid as a present. It takes a special person to raise kids. I am not that person, no matter how great a dad my friends think I would be. No matter what my friends that have kids say about how it makes your life purpose more complete, I don’t buy into it.
A screaming, crying, hungry at two in the morning baby is not going to help me reach my peak potential. Don’t get me wrong. I sort of like kids. I taught high-risk youth in New York, and am the Chair of the LGBTQ youth sub-committee here in West Hollywood. I love spending time with youth, who are at the at least 12 year old speaking and comprehension level. I do well with them. Helping youth with their concerns, and laughing a bit with them is a blast for me. The miracle of this life, though, is that I get to go home and not have one wailing or screaming to eat. The idea of washing up a drooling whining creature, four or five times a day other than myself doesn’t appeal to me at all. I do not possess one iota of a fraction of a paternal instinct.
I also understand that children are our future. Just listen to any politician around election time. They will yammer about it until they are elected. I believe wholeheartedly that gays and lesbians should have the option to adopt, without legal turmoil and with the same ease as out hetero counterparts. They can carry them around in those burlap papooses tied to their chests and be perpetually covered in baby drool, waiting on the next diaper change. Oh and about that. I will never subscribe to the notion that changing diapers is the character building activity that so many nursing mothers are lactating about. It is vile, gross, and something I must leave the room, car, park or anywhere else I have seen it done.
“I just want to exercise my right to remain childless…”
I know several gay male couples that have adopted. They have gotten their little babies from other countries. How sweet. All I can tell you, and this is fact, is that they have physically aged more quickly than anyone else I know. They have bags under their eyes, non-manicured nails, colourless skin, and have trouble forming intelligible adult sentences. These are all of the special bonuses of raising their little bundle of joy. A bundle of joy for me is a new pair of True Religion jeans and a deep cleaning facial.
And here is the best part. Parents think each one of their kids is the most special creation in the entire existence of mankind. My gay friends with kids brag on and on about their children being the smartest, wittiest, children ever to reach one month old. They tell me how they crawl, walk, talk, pass gas, and burp correctly. Yes it’s a phenomenon that babies can actually burp correctly. Ask any parent. UGH.
Parents please don’t be sending me any hate mail or e-mails about this article. Have I broken a Cardinal rule in this new craze of gay adoptions by not wanting a baby? It’s not that I don’t believe in the right to have a baby. I just want to exercise my right to remain childless. I believe in a woman’s right, I believe in equality and justice for all, I believe in universal healthcare and meals on wheels. I love the idea of Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. I adore the idea of The Tooth Fairy, or any fairy for that matter. They just won’t be visiting my home this time around.
That is of course unless it is to see Lilly, my little Dachshund. Did I tell you she is so smart? She sits, begs, plays dead, speaks and understands two hundred words. I swear she is the smartest little puppy ever created. And she burps correctly…UGH
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