“Time is running out.”
I have been a huge fence-sitter when it comes to whether or not to have children of my own. The maternal instincts of needing to create a brood consisting of a haphazard mash-up of questionable DNA has never even pinged on my life radar. It just doesn’t seem to exist.
I’ve also never been a children person, even when I was one myself. Babies? Forget it! Come talk to me when you’re a brooding pre-teen. I’ve never changed a diaper, babysat for more than an hour, and holding a newborn does not elicit any real joy stirring from deep within my bosom.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate kids and remain respectful when they’re in my presence, I just lack any sort of natural connection with young people. Being child free this far into my 30’s also means I have literally heard it all, from the standard arguments, to the guilt-tripping, and even being called selfish for blatantly ignoring my god-given duties.
Who knows? Maybe one day I will wake up, stretch my limbs, and suddenly desire for my loins to be filled with various fruits. Maybe I will give my knee a hearty slap and guffaw to myself that it’s taken that long untangle my fallopian tubes and get crackin’. Stranger things have happened after all.
Most likely though, I will remain as I am; barren and content. Either way, that’s completely my choice and should really have no effect on anything or anyone, ever.
This also leaves me wide open for about 28 cats!