I'm pretty sure I'm never going to have children.
That sounds flippant I know, and I don't mean to trivialise the hurt that so many uterus-bearing people (and their partners) feel when their body won't do the things they desperately want it to do. This isn't a blog about infertility. This is a blog about a young woman's choices. (The young woman being me, in case you were confused. Which you probably shouldn't be because I haven't-even-written-any-sentences-like-this-yet.) And as far as my choices go the baby making is looking pretty unlikely indeed, what with the lesbian thing and the lack of any solid career or even vague financial stability thing. There's also the fact that I tend to not really like kids very much, and have actually made statements in the past like "I hate children" and "a great business plan would be to start up a child free airline"; statements which I am starting to see as being perhaps ever so slightly problematic with the help of feminist motherhood bloggers, my favourites being Blue Milk and Spilt Milk. (Tis true, to make my list you must include the word 'milk' in your blogging handle.) Also, children tend not to like me very much, which is probably due to the fact that my armament of social tools (over sharing information about my sex life and wearing statement head wear) isn't entirely appreciated by those under twelve. There's plenty of other reasons for my not wanting children: my phobia of needles, my low pain threshold, my dislike of having sticky hands, my hatred of all things animated. The list does go on. (My vehement refusal to play any sort of game, my dislike of doctors, my irrational fear that my breasts are so large they would suffocate my baby mid-breast feed....)
Mostly though, I'm just worried that if I had children they might turn out like Ben Simpson.
I'm worried that they might be the kind of person who would see a Facebook event for the Wellington Young Feminists' Collective Launch Party and decide to post this:
And then upon reflection, decide he hasn't sought quite enough attention and then post this as well:
You can thank me now, dear PIV loving readers, for the best contraception I have ever come across. Run out of condoms on a bush hike? Just think of Ben Simpson. Forgot to renew your pill prescription? Just think of Ben Simpson. Stuck overnight in Vatican City? Just think of Ben Simpson. Just think of Ben Simpson and think about giving birth to a son and changing his soggy nappies and covering his school books with duraseal and then seeing him use 'lesbian' as an insult on the internet! Imagine reading to him every night and washing his sticky wet dream bed sheets only to be slapped in the face by his trolling of a feminist Facebook group! Imagine raising a son so steeped in his own privilege yet so insecure about his masculinity that he chooses to spend his Monday evenings insulting the social justice movement on the internet!
I think I would possibly die of embarrassment. And so I remain childless. If any accidents happen (unlikely, due to both the lesbian monogamy and the lack of phantom sperm floating around Aro Valley) my son will be raised with this picture of Christina Aguilera super glued to his wall:
Post Script Part One - These screen caps were taken earlier in the evening on the WYFC event page. After I went to bed I understand that Ben Stimpson stuck around being boring and nasty resulting in his banning from the event page - thus the comments have now disappeared.
Post Script Part Two - If you are reading this and you would like internet fame for your brilliant witticisms leveled at Ben Simpson just let me know and I can remove your MS Paint anonymity.
Post Script Part Three - If you live in Wellington... See you on Friday!
Post Script Part Four - WYFC Event Poster designed by Natasha Sawicki Mead. Photo of Christina designed by Google Images.
