Monthly Archives: February 2015

What A Seventeen Year Old Thinks About Her Children

And I need you to stop now. Stop thinking I have my own children. I don’t.

I am not criticising anyone who is seventeen and has children; seriously, I don’t give a damn about whether you have kids or not. We are too often convinced that children define us and make us completely different people than we were before. This should not be true. Reproduction is just one of seven basic life processes; it’s the same as breathing, eating or getting rid of waste. And you can’t tell me that taking a shit changed your whole personality.

You happened to have children – alright. You had to be grounded for nine months, give birth which might have freaked you out a bit and you gained new responsibilities. But the only thing that really changed is that your genealogic tree is bigger now. Well done, you’ve produced a genetically similar offspring organism!

Not to go too much off topic – let’s go back to my children. By my children I obviously mean my future children. The awesomest, smartest, best-looking kids in the whole world. Isn’t it what everybody thinks about their future kids? You see a picture of a really cute child, probably dressed as a smaller version of a movie character (Harry Potter, YES) and you automatically say ‘my kid’s gonna be like that.’

I think I can say it in the name of most of the teenagers – I want to raise my child to be the version of me I couldn’t become. Plus, I would be the parent I wanted my parents to be. The coolest parent on the Earth, who lets her children stay up late playing games on xbox, fills the fridge with food and treats and doesn’t moan about bad grades. After all, grades don’t determine intelligence. They just show how well you can read in your teacher’s mind. Or on how lucky you were on that particular day.

But before I started talking about children I should have mentioned that I don’t want to have children. At least my own ones. The visions of having a globe instead of a belly or several hours’ long unbearable pain do not tempt me at all. There are so many women who got pregnant by accident and are not ready to raise a baby. Why would we make even more children when there are plenty unwanted ones, just waiting for someone who will take care of them? If we can recycle anything, we can recycle humans as well. (I really wish it didn’t sound that heartless.)

There are only two cons of adoption – firstly, my incredible genes wouldn’t be passed to the next generation. Nobody wants an ugly child and how am I supposed to know whether my kid, when it grows up, is going to be as beautiful as me? (At least as beautiful as me. I am not the Evil Queen, I can share awesomeness.) Secondly, I’m not sure how exactly it works but the best part of having a kid is choosing the name. What if your one already has a name? An important part of creating your own human being is gone. Note to remember: always get the kid without a name.

So this is what I think about my children: they will not exist. I might eventually adopt one (or two or three), but I am not going to carry it with me everywhere for nine months and pretend I feel so happy about expecting a baby. I would get my husband to do it, but he would probably refuse. For some reason. Eh, men.

In case anyone was interested (I doubt it) or wanted some inspiration, I will put here a spider diagram about my imaginary child which would be the awesomest kid in the whole universe. Thanks to its tremendous mother, obviously. Enjoy.