Recently, while explaining to my friend Taylor how she could swindle her husband into buying her new boobs, her kids decided to wrap themselves around me like an Hérve Léger bandage dress.  Within seconds, Taylor had launched herself across the room, yelling, “NO NO, Julie doesn’t LIKE kids, get off of her!”

I was only taken aback for 2.8 seconds, and that was mostly because I was fantasizing about accepting an Academy Award in an Hérve Léger dress (for my role as The Rock’s flat-chested but spitfire-y girlfriend who mostly lays in bed looking hot AF, duh).  Was it true? Do I not like kids?  I mean, I own one and I’m so obsessed with him that it borders on psychotic.  (Example: My kid asked me to tie his shoe while we were at a birthday party in front of 20 people, and my choices were: 1. Bend over and tie my 11 year-old’s shoe for him like the coddling, deviant, Beverly Goldberg freak show that I am, and have 20 pairs of judgy eyes Mom-shaming me.  2. Ignore him, roll my eyes, tell him he can handle such a simple task, and when he asks later what my problem was, tell him I was drunk.)  But do I like Other People’s Kids? **  Yes, if they are quiet, polite, and old enough to vote.

I only have one child.  I did not jump off the train at Procreation Station.  I did not hear the voice of God or James Earl Jones (sidenote: I DO hear James on those Arby’s commercials, and he has rekindled my love affair with roast beef)  that everyone else seems to hear that says: “You must have TWO children to complete the circle of life!” ***  

People still ask me if I’m ‘done’ having kids.  I’m sorry, why are you in my uterus?  I hosted one human being in there for 10 months, and unless you are giving me a free pass to eat cheese fries for breakfast like he did, BACK UP.   

Maybe I’m actually 47 years old and look damn good for my age, but am halfway to Crazytown with all the hormones and hot flashes, and my uterus is just a lump of lifeless, dead clay like the face of a Real Housewife!  Maybe I’m barren and can’t have any more kids, and I walk through the American Girl Doll store crying my eyes out every night hoping that one of those things comes to life like my very own matching-outfit Pinocchio!  Maybe I’m having an affair with my personal trainer and if I got knocked up I wouldn’t know whose baby it was, and I’m on the verge of becoming a Lifetime movie called Two Daddies: The Suburban DNA Scandal!

So what if my reasons lean more towards enjoying 9 uninterrupted hours of sleep, or pulling up to the valet in something smaller than a food truck?  My kid gets my full, undivided attention.  He might never cut his own steak, and I might have to tie his shoes on his wedding day.  But I will be wearing Hérve Léger, and will be free to hold your newborn.

** If you are humming Naughty by Nature right now? We are soulmates.

*** If you are humming The Lion King right now, and possibly holding your phone up like baby Simba?  Marry me.

© Calling All Cool Moms 2017