I’ll be the first one to admit that I never liked children. I still don’t. Even after having a baby, I can honestly admit that I do not care for children. However, whether or not you like kids, having a child fundamentally alters your perspective of them.
I could think of about a thousand things I’d rather do than hang out with a kid. Abhorrent things. Things that include but are not limited to; watching paint dry, cement cure, flies fuck, any J. Lo flick, or professional golf on TV – you know, painfully mundane activities. My own child is the one exception. But why is that? Fundamentally, he is no different than any other baby, right? [adToAppearHere]
One of the reasons people dislike kids stems from a subconscious fear of being accountable for more than just getting to work on time and picking up their dog’s shit during the nightly jaunt around the apartment complex. Accountability for a human life is serious. Moreover, it requires selflessness. A characteristic that is not always easily accessible in immature adults. We try to highlight the problems with having a baby–their incessant crying, constant neediness, and the financial commitment as the justification for our aversion, but that’s pure fiction and deep down we all know it.
I am a parent who does not like little kids. Children are like tiny cab drivers. They are loud and sputter nonsensical half-words. They omit a foul smell if not attended to regularly. They struggle to communicate their needs articulately. If they are still babies, they are asleep all day like extant sloths and awake all night, blubbering like my neighbor’s obese bulldog.
I’ve never intentionally set a good example for a child. Never. I didn’t plan to have one. I cannot point to someone less prepared to be accountable for a human life. But, when you have your own, you don’t feel like that anymore. Yes, you may not like children, but you gain an understanding and a tolerance. Sure, I’ll never gain a tolerance for the woman dragging her child down the aisle in Wal-Mart while he screams as if Freddy Krueger is haunting his dreams and his indignant little sibling intentionally rips everything off the shelves as the mother frantically searches her Prada bag for her food stamps. God bless California. I admit that I will never have that level of tolerance. However, when you have your own child, you’ll discover that you had the courage and the altruism to be a parent all along.