The Kids

I’ve been traveling recently, and I’ve noticed a lot of babies. People married and with kids. It was just Children’s Day here in Mongolia. When I was a kid, I always assumed I would have a family someday. Before 20, I thought I was going to be married by 20. When I hit 20, I thought I would be married and starting a family by 25. At 25, I thought I’d be having kids by 30 with my wife. At 30 I had a cosplay party and just hoped against all of the odds and statistics of my life that I would at least have a girlfriend at 35. At 35, I’d been broken up with my girlfriend for about 6 months. 40 can fuck off.

In high school I went through a phase where I was only going to adopt because there are already enough people in the world without bringing more into it. My family seems to remember this phase as me ‘wanting a Chinese baby’. I’ve seen asian babies on this trip. Maybe they’re right in their incorrect simplicity.

By uni I was back to thinking that life would work out and i would end up with the love of my life and the quintessential family. Soul mate. Soul kids. Soul… music?

Then I was with a woman who didn’t want kids. And I tried to convince myself I could live like that. Hell, if everything had worked out, maybe I could have gotten by on our love for a while. Sorry, our ‘love’.

Now I’m older and I realise I want kids someday. A mini me.

My first serious relationship, she wanted kids. She was from a Mormon family, so it was probably hard coded into her DNA. I mean, I suppose the need to reproduce is already hard coded into the DNA of all living creatures, but her more than most. Something about populating the world with more followers for Joseph Smith’s very American religion. After the constant cheating, and the mind games, when we were back in Australia and had moved in together (always best to move in with the woman who puts you through mental and emotional torture, because love is a fucking drug, ladies and gentlemen!), we started talking about getting married and having kids. I kept putting the brakes on it, because I was slowly (very slowly) realising that constantly fighting wasn’t a healthy relationship.

My last girlfriend didn’t want kids. Not at all. Wouldn’t entertain the idea. Hated the thought of it. Funny thing was, I was starting to come over to her way of reasoning when all the shit went down. Then when I was desperately trying to reach out to her, trying to piece together our shattered relationship and give her the support she needed (or that I thought she needed), suddenly our difference of opinion about kids became another con for being together – along with the lack of communication and the snoring. Oh man, we tried everything to get over my snoring. Well, everything bar me miraculously getting the willpower to lose weight. Although looking back at it, if I had gotten hot it would have solved the snoring, and maybe she would actually have been attracted to me. As she once told me when I asked her if she was attracted to me – “I’m not dating you for you body.” Wow. Ouch. Honest, but brutal. That left me depressed for at least a week, and regularly makes regular trips through my psyche when people tell me things aren’t so bad. And people wonder why I have an issue with my body. I know what I look like. If someone who’s dating me can’t even be turned on by me, what hope do I have of a random person being attracted to me and wanting to date me. The online dating stats don’t lie – girls don’t bother with fat boys. I’m funny (sometimes (as a coping mechanism)), but i could never be funny enough to make someone forget that I’m fat.

So yeah, kids. A little Adam (though female – there’s too many boys on the planet already), I could make their life the happiest ever and they would never feel depression, I’ll always try to understand them and never resort to smacking, they’ll always feel loved and I’ll teach them tolerance and acceptance and I’ll probably be a little bit disappointed when they turn out to be straight and devastated when they turn out to be a jock and not at all nerdy. Ha, at this rate I’ll be 60 when they’re in their 20’s. I think it’s more likely never actually going to happen.

All this hibernation fat stored for absolutely nothing.