Hello, my name is Stephanie and I don’t like babies or how they get here.
Before you start judging me, I Googled it and it’s a real thing! It’s called “Paedophobia: The fear of babies and young children”. Alright, alright, maybe I don’t have a legit phobia, but babies are scary.
So, you get pregnant; you go through months of ridiculous cravings, awful morning (sometimes all day) sickness, you gain a billion pounds and more than half the time you’ll never get that awesome body back and your feet start looking like flippers but hey, let’s say you’re fine with that. I mean it IS the “miracle” of childbirth and all. Comes with the territory, right?
Then the time comes for you to give birth, you go through hours of labor and you ruin a perfectly good vagina or you get yourself a brand new 10inch scar, all for what, the nurse to hand you a screaming chicken? Yes, I said chicken because I think they look like featherless chickens for the first week or so. Plus, they come out all wrinkled. How does something new come out wrinkled? It has been properly incubated, it even has you eating like a cow to supply its constant demand for food and nutrients… shouldn’t it come out shiny and new and pretty? I just don’t get it.
Fast-forward a couple months and they get cute (if you’re lucky) – what now? Like what are you supposed to do with them? They become these smelly, screaming, poo-covered things that require your attention all the time. It’s terrifying.
I promise you, if the baby pukes… I’ll puke. We don’t even have to talk about it pooping because I’ve never changed a diaper, I don’t know how.
I think what scares me the most is that I don’t know what they’re thinking. I have absolutely no understanding of their kind and it makes me nervous. Have you ever seen them just sit there and stare? It’s almost trance-like. What are they staring at? Do they have thoughts?
I don’t know, maybe motherhood isn’t for everyone… I’m pretty sure it isn’t for me. And no, I wasn’t mugged or attacked by a baby. I just don’t want one.
Or who knows, maybe one day I’ll meet a baby, we’ll have a few drinks and a conversation, maybe find some mutual ground and I’ll change my mind. Stranger things have happened.