Abby Heugel is a professional writer/editor and aspiring hermit in Michigan who is waiting to be discovered as either a brilliant writer, Broadway star or professional asparagus eater. She can’t sing very well, so she’s hoping the other two pan out. You can read more of her work at www.abbyhasissues.com.
Here’s the thing.
I am not a mom and I will never be a mom, as my instinct to nurture things is pretty much limited to my garden three months out of the year, at which point in time I’m ready to rip the sucker out of the ground and give it a rest for nine months.
People have told me this isn’t an option with offspring. That kind of cements my decision.
But much like my grandma telling people that I’m a spinster with no hips and no ass, it’s inevitable that at 30 years old, my friends are surrounding me with everything “baby.”
I can honestly say that I don’t mind the occasional update and picture. A baby might not be as cute as a puppy, but the little buggers can occasionally do things that warrant parental bragging and posting.
The problem arises when my friends—wearing their baby blinders—mistake my polite interest as an invitation to indulge me with stories of possible allergies and prolific artistic talents with macaroni and glue on a daily basis.
So in the interest of keeping me itchy trigger finger off the “unfriend” button, I thought I would give them a few tips about how to keep the anti-mommies from becoming anti-friends.
There are certain words that are acceptable and “normal” when bandied about with other parents, but that non-parents don’t need to hear. These include but are not limited to: kidlet, breast pump, nipple, baby bump or placenta. And for the record, any mention of placenta consumption is an automatic blocking for life.
Pictures are fine in moderation, which I understand is a relative term. However, just think about how many pictures you would like to me send you of either my fake indoor tree or my mom’s dog and use that as a baseline. And as for ultrasound photos, just don’t. While it’s a miracle and lovely for you, to those of us who aren’t carrying that little lima bean inside our uterus, it looks like an alien. They all do.
Finally, know that when I say I don’t want to have children, I really mean I don’t want to have children. Do not look at me as if I just declared I don’t want to ever have fun or time to myself again, as for me, having children would amount to never having fun or time to myself again. To put it in parental terms, I would be in a permanent “time out.”
Please know that I am genuinely happy for you and wish you nothing but the best. But if you send me a mouse pad with a picture of your child dressed up like a mini-you or start tweeting about nipple seepage, all bets are off.
Now if you’ll excuse me, my fake tree needs water.