Baby Proof

I have a confession to make.

I hate children.

To those who know me, they know it's just part of me. I shudder when I hear squealing. I cringe when I'm out at a restaurant and babies and screaming and crying. I hate whining at a store. People who don't know me- mainly adults- keep telling me I'll grow out of this. My mom tells me that's how she was at 23 (she was also a wild hippie, but that's another story). My uncles tell me that I'm just like my dad and I won't want one until it's mine and it's in my arms.

I don't know. I can't see myself, you know, putting someone else's needs in front of my own. Selfish? Completely. But at least I've come to realize that before I pop one out.

Since I've opened up Emily Giffin's book Baby Proof, I've obviously associated myself with the main character.

"I never wanted to be a mother. Even when I was a little girl, playing dolls with my two sisters, I assumed the role of the good Aunt Claudia."

All right, I was the completely bossy older sister, but still- I've never put myself in that role. Even now, my friends are gushing about how much they can't wait to be that mother and housewife. That's my nightmare. I want my career. My writing. My body.

Then there are the friends- and there's an overlap of these later into this group- who want to be a teacher. It's a really, really crappy time to want to be a teacher in NJ, but that's a whole other issue. I just can't imagine wanting to be an elementary school teacher. A high school English teach I totally understand. But who really wants to technically babysit nose-picking, smelly, germy children, or teach them to write their ABC's? No thanks.

Getting back to Baby Proof, it's really everything after the first page that scares me. I won't give anything away because I highly recommend reading the book because she's amazing an amazing writer. But read it and get back to me on this: is it completely out of line that I associated myself with that book, but it made me so mad?