Another Argument Against the Likelihood of Our Survival as a Species

Daily, constantly, I am amazed that we have managed to survive for so many millennia. Our children are helpless for SO long compared to other species. We can't even walk, much less run, away from danger for over a year. We can't be trusted to make decisions that reflect the concept of self preservation until we're at least in grade school--and in some people it doesn't kick in until they're in their mid-twenties.

These are problems, but not the ones that I want to discuss today. Today I want to discuss the awesomeness that is NOT having kids--specifically, the NOT having kids after spending four years, more or less non-stop, having kids.

Libby had surgery Tuesday. If you haven't heard about this and are concerned for her well-being, then feel free to ask her about it. I shan't go into it here because it has to do with "girl problems" and I don't like to think about such things. From Monday night until Saturday morning, my parents had the kids.

First, I should note that they did wonderfully over that period (well, from what my parents said, but they might have been telling me what I wanted to hear so we didn't feel bad about dumping the kids on them for so long). Possibly a little TOO well. I mean, it's one thing for them to be well-adjusted enough to not throw tantrums wanting mommy and daddy or to sleep in a bed in someone else's house or whatever. It's quite another for them to not really miss us at all. Neither one of them spent more than a few moments thinking about Libby and I. On the one hand--awesome. That makes it easier to dump them off on other people for a few days should we ever have the gumption to go somewhere without our children. On the other hand--come on! I spend my whole friggin life taking care of you brats, the least you could do is pine over my not being around for five days! A little appreciation here, people!

But, then, I guess it's a two-way street and that is the point of this post. I rather enjoyed not having the kids around for so long.

The last five days have been wonderful. WONDERFUL. I don't think there is a font that could accurately do it justice on here. I was able to go into town, to the hospital, whenever I wanted. I was able to stay for the better part of two and a half days straight. I was able to stay overnight once. I was able to get into my car, without thinking a thing about it, and GO PLACES. I was able to go to bed at my leisure and wake up when I wanted to. And then when Libby came home Thursday afternoon, we were able to do pretty much whatever we wanted. I was able to go into work Thursday and Friday night without a worry (in contrast, we've spent the last couple days talking to friends and trying to work out some way to have people in the house with the kids on Tuesday/Thursday/Saturday next week because Libby can't lift more than ten pounds until the middle of July and we have a two year old in our house--and I have to work).

In essence, it was like being childless again--like that period from the time we got married until Gabe came along. It had been so long since I'd had anything like actual freedom of movement that I had long since forgotten what it was like. I had taken for granted the extraordinary pain in the ass it is to have kids.

Which made me think, "Why don't people tell other people about this kind of thing BEFORE they have kids?" Which made me think, "Clearly, if people told other people about this kind of thing BEFORE they had kids, then normal/thoughtful people wouldn't have kids and only those people who become weirdly obsessed with having children round about the time they hit puberty would be doing the breeding, and then we'd have a world entirely populated by people born to weirdly obsessed teenagers. And what kind of a world would that be?" Almost certainly less populated, if nothing else.

Nonetheless, I'm going to tell prospective parents, outright, that it sucks. Having once again had a taste of near freedom, I'm not going to mince words with you. Your kids are like a shackle around your ankles. They are house arrest. They are a full body cast. They are the spontaneous combustion of your means of transportation and shoes. Worse. They are WHINING shackles and house arrests and full body casts and spontaneous combustions!

Now, clearly I say this because I am freshly embittered. After a few days of having the kids around again, I won't even remember what I was bitching about, or why, or what my name is, or how I got where I was, or any of the other things that usually brain cloud away when I'm around the kids for too long.

Oh, yeah. Did I mention that I was starting to think actual thoughts again about things that weren't to do with Transformers and getting my child to sleep through the night? Granted, they were mostly thoughts about composting and the possibility of introducing vermiculture--worm composting--to the composting experiment that I've been weirdly and inexplicably taken in by over the past month, so not exactly deep or relevant thoughts, but they were my own.

But all of that will be gone soon enough and I won't know any better. Because I love the little buggers. Inconvenient and brain numbing as they are, I love them. And THAT is probably the only reason that we've survived as a species.

(But seriously non-parents--and here I want you to imagine me speaking in a foreboding tone, possibly with a flashlight held under my chin--consider having children CAREFULLY. Do not take the having of children lightly. They will OWN you! You will be in the prison of child-rearing and it will not end soon! Heed my words! I shit you not!)