We’re looking back at some of my favorite fulfillment posts from the last five Februaries. This one is from 2009.
Just in case we weren’t clear, the following is a satire.
I like me.
No. I take it back. I love me.
I love everything about me. I have blue eyes, I’m tall, I’m fashionable, I’m a talented writer and musician, I’m extremely intelligent, I’m svelte, I’m funny, I’m witty. I could go on, but I’m sure you get the picture.
To make an already-too-long story short (as if you could ever tire of hearing how great I am!), I know that my specific combination of genes and je ne sais quoi is, frankly, the among best that the world has seen. It would be tantamount to a crime to deny the world the perpetuation of my DNA.
Also, I like attention. I enjoy having every eye in the room on me, and before I had children, I couldn’t help but notice how everyone in the chapel turned to stare at the mother with the toddler screaming “MOOOOOOOOOORE WAAAADDERRRRRRR!” during the Sacrament.
Or how everyone in the quiet restaurant clucked at the mother with the five-year-old throwing his $7.99 macaroni and cheese on the floor. Or the surreptitious yet piteous glances at the mother whose teenage daughter will be having a baby of her own any day.
I couldn’t help but think, “Oh, if only I were that mother. Every eye would be on me!”
Let’s face it: mothers are a privileged class in our society. No one else demands the attention of a crowd like the mother with more small children than hands, especially if she should be lucky enough to have one run away or throw a tantrum.
No one else gets to sit at home eating ice cream for breakfast and watching oh-so-premium daytime television, and only be expected to explain to everyone outside their elite tier exactly what it is they do all day. No one else receives the admiration of peers and strangers, evident by such comments as “You certainly have your hands full!” and “Don’t you know what causes that?”
Speaking of which, mothers are never at a loss for conversation starters. Mothers have kind strangers approach them in public places to offer much needed and prized job feedback. Helpful soon-to-be-friends always know exactly where you could improve. (The less kind people just smile and nod, or offer a not-conducive-to-conversation “We’ve all been there.”)
Mothers get tax credits. They get to have the booths and biggest tables at restaurants; they can use handicapped ramps, door openers and elevators without guilt; they even get to board airplanes first! Little wonder I was so envious of mothers.
Lest I forget, there was a range of experiences I felt fundamentally lacking from my life. I’d never been puked on, peed on or pooped on. I had a queasy qualm about the sight of blood that I definitely wanted to resolve. And I’d never been to an emergency room.
I was getting entirely too much sleep, hadn’t had stretch marks since my preteen growth spurts, and had only ground a few pounds’ worth of food into my carpet.
The privileges our society unfairly reserves only for mothers begin as soon as one is visibly pregnant. Suddenly, people finally feel the license to address my weight gain, to touch my person without the pesky formality of asking permission.
In the end, I think it was a foregone conclusion that I would choose motherhood. Between bequeathing the world with the continuation of my genetic line, earning the admiration and attention of everyone within earshot (or macaroni and cheese range), and the fabulous conversation starters, how could I pass up this opportunity?
Why did you choose to have children? Please, leave only sarcastic answers here; we’ll try this again with sincere reasons later in the week! Also, check out the hilarious reasons on the original post.
