Who’s Mummy?

Kids. I’m not a massive fan of kids, if I’m honest. Never have been. Never will be. This could be an issue considering I’m about to have my own… And that (!). I’ve also never had much of a Mothering Instinct. Generally a baby’s got to be particularly “puppy-esque”, damn cute for me to even blink sympathetically at it and then, you know, of ginger variety – with freckles – for me to agree to hold it without feeling an uncontrollable pang of utter, unequivocal fear. It’s safe to say I’m not a natural.

So, as I sit here after a big dinner full of carbs (yes I am trying my best to get as fat as humanly possible on the excuse that I’m “eating for two”) and, after a lazy day, my baby’s finally wriggling happily around in her spongy (bit weird) haven, I’m still amazed by the incredible and overwhelming amounts of love I feel for her already. I love hormones. Hormones are great. Honestly (I know, I’m also shocked at the fact that I just admitted to liking something in a non-sarcastic manner).

It’s hormones (yep, I’m gonna blame the hormones because I’m still in denial) that have not only made me love, thoroughly and unconditionally, the bun almost done baking in my springy (again, weird) oven but also seem to have made me utterly resentful of almost every other person I’m unfortunate enough to encounter, recently.

Now, don’t judge me – I don’t have a superiority complex or an inferiority complex or some kind of weird God complex – basically, I don’t have a chip on my shoulder, I don’t think I’m better than everyone and I don’t suffer from little man syndrome. But I do suffer from a serious case of “get some perspective and realise that you have it easy”-itous.

Stick with me because I am heading somewhere with all of this. It may seem like some endless stream of useless consciousness (which it mostly is) but there is some logic to it, I promise…

I’m just getting really bored of people lumbering me with their insignificant and small issues, bought on themselves by controllable issues. I’m bored of people whinging and whining about stuff they could, if they wanted to, change; but are too bloody lazy to know how; and I’m bored of people being content in their misery.

If there’s one thing I’ve truly learnt over the last week it’s that life is far too short to sit and wait for the good to come your way or the bad to fade away. You have to make things happen for yourself, be selfish, be proactive and take risks. You also have to chill out (haha – that’s rich coming from me, eh?) and realise that conventional social constructs such as romantic relationships and their inevitable dissolution at some point in time are completely irrelevant when placed in competition with the concepts of life and death (hmm… I did have a friend today imply that the loss of his relationship and the consequent pain he’s suffering was similar to that of the pain I feel at the loss of my Grandfather).

Am I the only person that has come to realise over the years that romantic relationships are there to be enjoyed, to be an aide to a happy life, not it’s own world around which happiness, like the Earth around the Sun, should revolve? Romantic relationships serve a basic biological purpose. They make babies. Subsequently confirming the continuation of the human race. They are nice. They are fun. They are also entirely over complicated because we are complex creatures. Naturally. With intelligence comes thought (and too much of it, sometimes). With thought comes torture; and so on and so on. You get the idea.

It’s safe to say that I’ve grown tired of relationships. Maybe it’s because I’ve fulfilled my basic biological function on this planet, or maybe it’s because my half brother and sister were so annoying earlier, they’ve put me off ever wanting more kids. Well, you know, what can I say? I’m not a massive fan of being splashed in the face with their dirty bath water 15 times in a row after I’ve asked them to stop at least 19. I’m also not particularly interested in watching the dog get whacked in the face or willing her to hump them, in a form of domination, as an act of revenge…

Essentially, I’m just not that into kids (!).

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2 thoughts on “Who’s Mummy?

  1. You’ve probably heard this a million times over, but you will change your mind. I wasn’t a fan of other people’s kids (for very similar reasons-I had a younger brother that drove me bonkers!), but once I held my newborn son in my arms it was…magic! Best of Luck! I look forward to reading your future posts- post baby 😉

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