I would’ve made a terrible parent
It’s a good thing I was never a parent because I would have been terrible at it.
I’ve never regretted not having children. Well… that’s not entirely true. The one time I regret not having children is when I’m trying to choose a gift for a friend’s kid and I have no clue what the current “it” toy is. If I had kids of my own, they’d keep me abreast of the latest toy/electronics/game trends and I’d be known as the “cool auntie” who always gives the best gifts.
As it is, I do my best. But I’ll admit I’ve committed the cardinal sin of gifting little ones with clothes when, let’s face it, all they really want is toys, toys, and more toys!
I’ve watched as little ones excitedly tear the wrapping paper off and open the box, only to discover inside… something to wear. Their faces fall, and an awkward silence descends over the room for a moment. A parent tactfully compliments the gift, and prompts a thank you, which the kid dutifully murmurs, before quickly moving on to the next gift. (In my defense, the outfits are always adorable, but still.)
At least I’m not as bad as my own grandmother, who used to give little me giant cotton underpants for Christmas, telling my mom, “she’ll grow into them!” Ugh!
The anxiety alone of parenthood would have killed me. And no doubt my kids would have been obese and probably prediabetic at a young age because I would have turned to sweets to solve every problem. Crying? Here, have a cookie. Is that better? Here, have the whole pack. Apparently, my preferred love language is Oreos.
My kids would have been uneducated as well because having to send them off to school every day would have been gut-wrenching for me.
On weekday mornings, as I sit at my desk in my home office, I can look outside and see neighborhood children walking to the bus stop, which is right in front of our house. Bless their little hearts… I see heads bowed and feet dragging, as if they’re headed to the slaughterhouse. Weighed down by bulging backpacks that are nearly as big as they are, and some are toting big black cases with band instruments. If it’s cold and windy, I feel worse for them, even if they’re bundled up in puffy coats. My heart breaks and I just can’t imagine any parent sending these babies out the door to face this big, cold, cruel world where they’ll be forced to exchange their innocence and joy for all manner of disappointment, rejection, and abuse.
Last week, I saw one little girl walking by herself to the bus stop. She sat down on the curb and put her head in her hands. I watched her just sitting there, wondering what she was feeling, for she did not look happy. I wanted to go out and put my arms around her and say, “You don’t have to go to school. Let’s watch movies and play games and eat junk food all day!” Of course, recognizing that as wildly inappropriate and a lousy idea, I just closed my eyes and asked God to comfort her and be with her through the day. Definitely a better course of action than kidnapping the neighbor’s child from the bus stop so they can skip school for a day of Disney debauchery.
But see what I mean? Parenthood requires more body parts than I possess; I don’t have the spine, the stomach, or the heart for it. Any potential child of mine certainly dodged a bullet by being born to someone else!
