Babies

Those of you who reside in or around my ‘hood have probably noticed the recent proliferation of procreation lately. If you do not believe me, go to The Garden (our local grocery store) on any given Saturday or Sunday morning and negotiate the gridlock of SUV-sized baby strollers yourself. It is more than a little annoying.

I do not have anything against babies. While waiting to check out from the grocery store I actually enjoy watching little Timmy suck on a ring pop and then proceed to shove it all the way up his nose. This not only makes the time go by faster, but it gives me the kind of cheap thrill that makes my life bearable. (Both of the the previous points are probably one and the same, but I digress…)

Parents are usually the ones who piss me off. A number of my friends have recently become or will soon be parents. I’m happy for them; they are cool people and will undoubtedly raise cool kids. The world needs good kids raised by parents who love them. On the other hand, the world does not need sappy birth announcements like the one that blighted my mailbox last week:

Our hearts whispered
your name and God answered…
At one glance we loved you
with a thousand hearts…

Unless the information I received in my sex education class was incorrect, I fail to see what god has to do with such things. It is my understanding that child-bearing is a simple matter of biology, not invoking some cosmic hotline for help. If you can’t figure it out on your own, you probably shouldn’t have children in the first place. Simple as that.

Then again, maybe contacting “him” has become an automated/consolidated process like dialing 311. Not only will a courteous operator handle your inquiry, but a licensed expert from Jesus’ Insemination Services Made Manifest (J.I.S.M.M.) will be dispatched to your home where he, turkey-baster/plunger in hand, will help you achieve your reproductive dream. Be sure to demand I.D. from your case-worker, as there are a number of imposters afoot.

The repetitive mention of “hearts” strikes me as being downright creepy. Having a fair amount of pre-Colonial Latin American history under my belt, the phrase “we loved you with a thousand hearts” paints a particularly gruesome picture in my mind. Presuming that each parent has one heart, where did the other 998 come from? Your guess is as good as mine.

In closing, I’d like to make the following suggestions to soon-to-be parents:

1. Your childless friends (BTW— we prefer the term child-free) are happy for you.
2. We wish you the very best and look forward to being a part of your child’s life, but…
3. please leave god and hyperbole out of it. Most of the world’s problems nowadays are firmly grounded in god and hyperbole; there is no need to add fuel to the fire, so to speak.

Having children is a biological function. It is about as mundane as taking a shit: both happen every day, all over the world, in numbers that would stagger the imagination. I will refrain from describing my bowel movements as an act of god (and believe you me, my affection for hot food often renders by-products culled straight out of the Old Testament) if you will be so kind as to return the favor in kind.

Otherwise, I will have not other recourse than to reply to your birth announcements with this.

Miss Heather