Defective Mommy Gene

Photocredit: Dustbunny

How cute is Dustbunny's kid? He looks just like her. It is difficult to accept that an increasing proportion of my friends now have children. Here I am, feeling as if I've just graduated from college and they've all gone move to another stage of their respective lives.

It is clear from this photo how unnatural babies are to me, leading me to consider my notably deficient maternal instincts. Some (and only some) babies are cute and charming, but I prefer to admire them from afar. None of that cooing and carrying on. Sure, I would smile with passing interest when a stroller passes, but never had to urge to reach out to touch them.

Do I find myself wanting one of my own? Back in the fourth grade, my mom bought me three Cabbage Patch Kids: a redhead Stephanie, a boy Billy, and a premie Theodore. I love soft toys--cute, fluffy animals. But I didn't really want these odd-looking human dolls with their matte sticker eyes. And to be very honest, they kind of freaked me out. My kids never had their diapers changed. They wore the same clothes for days until my friends visited, when I would take them down from atop the wooden box where they stood at attention, brush off the gathering dust and go through the motions of a nurturing caregiver. But the subterfuge was thin. Once, I picked Billy off the floor by his hard plastic head, to which my best friend Gemma shrieked: "What are you doing? You can't pick up babies like that!"

Many people comment that my devotion to the biits is a good predictor of motherhood. But the very notion of having a human baby is terrifying. There are sound biological reasons to pop a few out now before my eggs deteriorate--27 is when it begins to go downhill. What I lack is the emotional reason. Having a child would force me to surrender Chiik and take on a new mommy identity. Permanently. This is no comment on the nobility of this act, but I do know that I would resent the suppression and, worse, unconsciously boomerang the bad feeling upon hypothetical child. Perhaps selfishness and narcissism keeps me from entertaining that possibility. Some people are not meant to be mothers.