I can feel myself chickening out. Month three and I’m already acting like Michael Scott: “A YEAR? I don’t even know if I’ll want a baby in a year.” Not quite. But I’m so overly analytical that I literally have to make and re-make the decision to conceive every month. It’s like God is trying to call my bluff. And why not? God knows this thought crossed my mind today:
“I’d rather deal with a poopy butt than a shithead.”
Escapism. It’s officially a bad reason. A mother rather than a lawyer. Though the sane Me knows they’re not mutually exclusive, today the thought seemed like bliss. An escape. A way out. An excuse. Sometimes I get sick of being the breadwinner and feeling incompetent, poor, and stressed every day. A baby sounds so deceptively simple. But like I said: a terrible reason. But wait! There’s more:
Like the fact that I want to feel what it’s like to house a human inside my body? Selfish.
Wanting a reason for my family to be happy both with and about me? Needy.
Or that maybe I’ll expand my laughably small group of friends through the mormon mommy network? Sad.
I want the experience of filling out maternity clothes with a big belly. Vain.
I want to have an excuse for my shortcomings that is portable and adaptable to almost any situation. Lame.
I sometimes want to stay at home all day. And an excuse for that would be nice too. Lazy.
I want a 5 generation picture while great grandma is still alive and kicking. Overly sentimental.
I have probably dozens of bad reasons floating around in my head. I’d be a liar if I said they had absolutely no influence on me. They provide small comforts and humor and tangibles to look forward to when the eternal family blah blah is too esoteric to comprehend.
But they’re also not the reasons I decided to make a human. I’ll save those for another day.
Do you have any secret bad reasons for your choice to reproduce? Share. Or I’ll feel like I’m the only bad person ever.