So, I had some families over, during the weekend, and yes, by families, I mean children too. There were five-year olds, a three-year old, and a couple of baby twins, five months old. The food was delicious, if I do say so myself, the company was amusing, relatively speaking, and the children were relatively miraculously well-behaved. No fighting, no screaming, no crying. The twins were fairly quiet, and the toddlers amused themselves with the piles of toys lying in every corner. The high point of the evening was when I saw, out of the corner of my eye, one of the five year olds, (not mine, who didn’t deign to rise from behind his computer game) had raised a wooden kind of toy hammer and was standing over one of the baby twins, while the mothers screamed and rushed forward.
And everybody made happy clucking noises at the cute twins, the women picked them up and talked babies with the proud mother, and the proud father demonstrated his commitment and modern fathering skills by pronouncing one of them to be in need of a nappy change.
While I looked on in horror and relief that the twins were not mine.
And reasserted to myself how much I didn’t want babies.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my own children, and their welfare is my priority, now and forever. But babies? So do not want. I didn’t even want to pick up or look too closely at the twins, in case somehow I became mysteriously infected with babies, which is a physical impossibility (unless my gynacologist is an absolute liar). Much like the boyfriends of my girlfriends, whom I have noticed are somehow scared of me, as if they are afraid of seeing me too much will infect them, too, with marriage and children.
In this world of uncertainty and constant need for decision-making, it feels good to be so gut-certain about something. We discuss endlessly what should be done, what we need to do, whether we are making the right decisions regarding this or that matter. It feels good to know that there is something which is not on the agenda for discussion.