The day I become a parent is about a million years away, it feels. Or at least a bunch of years. I don’t particularly feel like being a parent right now; don’t know if I’m cut out for it. (As an aside, I also have some pretty strong views on why 19-year-olds should not marry and reproduce, but I’ll leave that for another occasion.)

That said, there’s a certain likelihood that I will one day help introduce a child into the world. But, Thor help me, should I ever, ever become one of those fathers that can’t talk of anything but babies, children, and things related to babies and children, you may take me out behind the barn and put me out of your misery.

Since this is more common in women, I want to say this: your child is very important to you, but your child is not important to me. I don’t really want to see pictures every time I see you, or hear you talk about the adorable little guy/gal every time you open your mouth, and I don’t like it when you’re covered in barf and smell like crap.

And I’m posting this even though I know I’m going to look back in ten years and sort of laugh at myself for this post, as I’ll be up to my chin in baby crap from the triplets God will give me for complaining about other peoples’ children.

Tags: rants