I can find out no rhyme to ‘lady’ but ‘baby’

I have a question for all of you beautiful people:

Do any of you nutters have kids?

Full disclosure: I am not with child.

I’m just curious that’s all. You see, there is a kid, currently located just outside of my kitchen window, who has been crying and screaming its absolute head off for say, the past fifteen, twenty minutes.

And this is not a baby, we’re talking about here. We are talking a legitimate, walking, talking human being – one who is weeping for all of Canada. He probably has a full set of teeth, takes trips to the loo solo, and can choose his outfits in the morning.

Having listened to him wail on and on for the last little bit, I just want to lean out of my window and holler, “WHAT’S THE PROBLEM KID? THERE’S NO CRYING IN BASEBALL! THERE. IS. NO. CRYING. IN. BASEBALL!!!11!!

AND GET OFF MY LAWN.

You whipper-snappers!

I mean, that’s pretty horrible of me, is it not?

I know.

I am definitely the worst.

And it is reactions of mine – like this one just described – that make me fear for the day (should I be blessed in the properly functioning uterine department) that I become a mother.

I just can’t imagine that scenario working out all too well.

For one, I have zero maternal instinct.

No, minus zero.

I have never, ever, had that “twinge” – when, after having glimpsed some beautiful scene where a glowing mother cuddles here gorgeous offspring – something inside of me says “I want that.”

To be honest, most of the time everything inside my entire being begins screaming, “DO NOT WANT. COMMENCE THROWING UTERUS IN GARBAGE DISPOSAL.”

I mean, sure, there are moments where I concede that it wouldn’t be so bad. In fact, the people I know and love who have kids make it look downright phenomenal. There are tons of great children out there, and seeing how many of the cool cats in my life love their kids is darn cool.

Plus I keep telling myself that I probably wouldn’t feel the same way about my child as I do about many of the random children I come into contact with – that being mostly terror, confusion, and incredulity.

Deep down I know I would definitely love the crap out of them.

But I still worry.

I worry for a number of reasons (above and beyond the fact that I seem to have pawned off my biological clock sometime in the early 90s for two Kitkat bars, some sour keys, and a copy of Kirby’s Dreamland for my Gameboy.)

The first and mayhaps the biggest?

I just don’t get babies.

I made it through about 4 minutes of this movie before turning it off:

Like seriously, people go absolutely bat shit CRAZY over babies. Not only that, but they go bonkers over baby paraphernalia.

WHAT THE HECK PEOPLE?

It makes me think that babies have some magical power to get you stoned. (Just think about it -marijuana gets you high, and potheads LOVE them some weed leaf stickers, Bob Marley posters, and giant decorative bongs – so I’ve come to the conclusion that it must be the same for those crazed baby-lovers.)

And if it isn’t for their ability to get you high, how else could people possibly care about a tiny pair of socks or a facecloth with a frog on it?

WHAT DO YOU PEOPLE KNOW THAT I DON’T?

And in terms of the baby itself – I too need this explained. Babies are small, foreign, angry old men or women, hell bent on breaking your ear drums, defecating mustard gas, and peeing all over every square inch of your life.

This is terrifying!

Seriously, their catchphrase could be – “BABIES: POOP GRENADES ONLY NOW WITH MORE POOP.”

And yet people think they are the bees knees.

And don’t tell me it’s because of their new baby smell.

I’ve smelled me some babies in my life and I know for a FACT that it’s not all cake and roses.

I worry that I’ll have a baby, and the baby will all be “I’m a baby SCREAM POOP PEE EAT SLEEP HAHAHAH JUST JOKING I’M NEVER GOING TO SLEEP SCREEEEAAAAAMMMMMM” to which I’ll just be like, “You, sir, are an arsehole, BUH BYE.”

I worry that I’ll have the baby, and the baby will all be, “BABY” and I’ll be like, “That’s all you got? Where the frick is the rest!? I JUST SPENT NINE MONTHS MAKING YOU – ENTERTAIN ME SPAWN!!!”

I worry that I will be the worst mother ever.

The first baby I ever held. I was sweating like crazy I was so nervous.

So what I guess I’m saying is that I worry.

I worry that I’ll give my kid the eating disorder that I struggled with for years; that I’ll give them the anxiety that I deal with on a daily basis; that I’ll make them think they need make-up to be beautiful because I too like to wear make-up; that I’ll drop them on their head the second I get home.

I worry about the unknown – what about my job? What about my relationship?

What about my body?

I worry about worrying about my body.

But throughout it all, I have one ace in the hole that makes all of these questions seem not quite so daunting.

That one person who makes me worry just a little less.

And that, of course, is Mr. M.

My freaking knight in shining armour.

Because somehow (and I have no idea how) he doesn’t have any of these doubts. He just knows. He has confidence in not only himself, but in me, and it is through him that I have started to believe, little by little, that one day, if this happens, it will be just grand.

And while I’m not necessarily at the same level of belief that he cooly-as-a-cucumber maintains, I have the belief that I will get there, eventually.

Because when I see him with children? That’s when I feel something flicker.

I imagine him and I giving piggybacks, and leaping through sprinklers; teaching small, wild haired munchkins about tidal pools and earthworms, making mud pies, and reading storybooks by flashlight.

And it gives me pause.

But who knows – maybe one day all of what I currently feel about myself, and my relationship with my yet-to-be-born babies will change. I will wake up, flick on the internet and order the newest poo grenade and pay extra for the express shipping.

But until that day, my questions remain.

As does my love.

Unlike, thank goodness, the echoes of the crying child, outside of my window.

Which means that he too, is happy.

This ain’t no orinoco flow

Hey Kids,

It’s time for another installment of the Friday Fry-up.  Today on the docket is this super weird ad from Evian:

What is it exactly that they are trying to tell me?  That drinking their water will make me younger?  That it will give me more energy?  That it will give me hair that looks as though I’m in front of an ever-present wind machine?

Or is it trying to tell me that drinking Evian will ensure that I lose the ability to talk and walk and leave me without control over my bowels and/or urinary tract?

Seriously, I’m calling shenanigans on this Benjamin Button crap.

How does this even make sense?  Especially due to the fact that they chose a model who is what – nineteen, maybe twenty years old?  Yeesh.  You know you are living life a little too fast and fancy free (aka no sleep and rampant drug use) if the year you graduate out of your “teens,” you are pining for the simpler days of yore, when you wore Babar onesies and cried all the time.  I really hope that this was not the message the campaign directors wanted to get across in this ad.

I doubt it – but then again, you never know.

I mean really, why not have a majorly old dude sporting a hot young piece of man flesh on his t-shirt?  That way we could move beyond the ever-present and hugely boring notion that aging as a woman IS SERIOUSLY THE SCARIEST THING IN THE ENTIRE WORLD EVEN SCARIER THAN ZOMIBES OMG GUYS GET ME SOME NIGHT TIME ANTI-WRINKLE CREAM STAT.  It would turn this conceit on its head, and make for a pretty interesting, funny, and aesthetically pleasing campaign.

Because seriously, if the ad is geared towards women (which I’m assuming it is – I don’t think there any many dudes out there who date women for their “inner baby” – and if there are, well, that’s a whole other can of worms I am not interested in opening) let’s give them something awesome.

Something different.

Is there no one out there that can come up with an idea that is thought-provoking, and most importantly, NEW?

As my mother used to ask, “AM I TALKING TO A BRICK WALL?”

Otherwise, it’s just boring, lazy and stupid.  Hey Evian, did you hear that?  Your water is Two and a Half Men – BOTTLED!!

P.S. Do babies even drink water!?  I don’t think they ingest much of anything besides breast milk or formula.

So sorry Evian – it’s a fail on all fronts.

On a completely different, totally awesome note: It snowed yesterday!

Now I no longer feel so silly about how quickly my excitement has been ramping up for the holiday season.  There is so much about this time of year that brings out the nostalgia big time.

Catch me at my desk today and you’ll probably hear me humming that age old tune:

“Oh the weather outside is weather…”