Literature is mostly about having sex and not much about having children. Life is the other way round. -David Lodge

I have to be brutally honest. I love children. A lot, actually. Ever since I was little, I have dreamed about having children. I fantacized about the way I would dress them, the unique names I would give them, the affection I would smother them with because I know how much of a blessing having children is. To be even more honest, I always had these off the wall fears that I would struggle to get pregnant. On some weird level, I felt that because I clung so tightly to the dream of having children, there would be some sort of morbid disappointment waiting for me as time.  I started to wonder if I would ever have children at all. It's weird, the things you worry about when you're left with only your thoughts to keep you company. I mean, truly. What sane, single twenty year old worries about having kids and the katrillions of medical complications that go along with it?

Having children is like having a bowling alley installed in your brain. -Martin Mull

For the majority of my working life, I worked for a child care facility. Over time, I learned all the tricks that can only come from that motherly instinct. I worked with every age group and I absolutely fell in love with all the kids. I was more like a mother to them than their own parents because I took care of them, as if they were my very own, for forty plus hours a week.

As I got older and more seasoned in the inner workings of child rearing, I worried less about the possible (and probably nonexistent) proverbial medical problems and most about the changes that inevitably take place when you have a child. I was in my early twenties, trying to get my degree, trying to get my broken life together, all while making $7.75 an hour. At this rate, I didn't want a child. I was nowhere near ready. Financially or otherwise.

I wanted a career. I wanted to accomplish so many things. I want to get my doctorate degree. I want to study serial killers professionally. I want to go to Vegas and watch my husband lose all his money at the blackjack tables. I want to go out on more than one date a year. I want to make something more than twenty grand a year. Sometimes, I wonder if a child would fit into that equation.

How will I finish school? Will I ever have a real career? How can I support a miniature person when I can barely support myself? How many people will I disappoint if I don't have children? Will I regret not popping out kids in the first few years of my marriage like all my normal, stable friends did?

These questions, along with so many others, are what keep me up at night.

But there are other things that haunt me: Like, what if I make them crazy? What if I screw them up or don't give them enough skin to skin contact and then they end up like Dr. Threadson (or his crazy son) in American Horror Story: Asylum? I mean, it's also quite possible that I could pass on more than just olive skin and natural blond hair to my hypothetical children. There's also that nasty, looming propensity to be innately neurotic. I mean, sure it can be charming but third generation crazy may not turn out all that splendid...

I think I became more productive through not having children. -Dolly Parton

But there's more to it than that. The thing about Italian families is that you have to have more than one child if you actually want to pick your own child's name. For real, practically everyone on my dad's side of the family share more than just a last name and a short temper. They're all Joe Jr., Jon Jr., Little Marie, or in my immediate family, Little Nancy. Savvy? Why bother even having kids when you can't name them what you want? Or you can't raise them the way you want?

Moral of the Crazy: I once had a very dear, dear friend tell me that they wanted to have kids primarily so they could pass on all the things they learned in their own life. They wanted to share all the tender knowledge that they learned from their own parents, as well as what they acquired on their own. To be honest with you, I found that incredibly admirable and sweet. What a unique way to look at the gift of having children.

I had another say that having children isn't for everyone. That some people live further and fuller through experience and culture. While parental instincts are natural, maybe some of us need to see the world let the sights, tastes, and smells of the world influence their life. Maybe they need to go to a big city and live in a lofty apartment, make love to their lap top every night as they peruse the life stories of the world's morbid serial killers. Who's to say what it is in life that gives you pleasure? What makes you feel alive and like a properly adjusted person...

I find myself actually having nightmares about the people I'll inevitably disappoint (including myself) if I don't have children. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed with everyone incessantly pressuring me to do what they deem is expected of my life.

The truth is that I DO want children. But I don't know when. And I don't think that having children is something that you can be on the fence about. I feel like the world and all my Facebook friends have labeled me as some sort of demon for admitting I'm not ready to grow another human being inside of me.

For those of you who ARE parents: I respect, admire and envy you. (Unless you're one of those dirt bags who doesn't take care of your kid. Then I hate you. And I will drive to wherever you live and fling acid in your face.) For those of you who are either on the cusp, like me, or have decided that you just don't want kids: I respect you just as much. 

I don't know what the future holds but I do know that one day I'll be ready. And I'll love that little tan, Portuguese baby more than anything in this world.

Give your babies a kiss for me. And be thankful for them.

I think when people come from a stable family, having children becomes a celebration. And I'm not sure it would be that way for me. -Jon Hamm

The Crazy version of Dear Abby: 

Need advice on something vital or love induced? Have some gossip that you desperately need to share? Want to swap idiot boyfriend stories?

Share your stories with me at: katemeyer@tampabay.rr.com with the subject line Crazy Face and be anonymously featured in my blog!