I’m just not that into you kid

I could be hung, drawn and quartered for even whispering this. I may definitely be thrown off the Earth Mother Island, but here goes….I do not think all kids are likeable just because they are kids. There, I said it. I feel the relief flooding my ovaries as I write this. I am not one of those women who sees a baby and feels my womb ache. More often I feel it drop to my knees in wild retreat. I’ve even had people send me photos of their new born loves and as I’ve opened the image, expecting to see a guffaw inducing meme, I’ve instead emitted an involuntary ‘gawd’! as my unfetter response flows out into the world. It’s just the shock. Those wrinkly little faces looking at me expectantly. I’m learning to mask my automatic responses. People don’t seem to enjoy my candour on this particular subject. We love your honesty they say! Oh really? This seems to cross the parental line.

For a long time those in my inner circle put it down to me not having kids of my own but I had a gut feeling this wasn’t the problem. I’ve come to realize that miniature versions are cute when speaking of horses, chocolates and handbags but does not necessarily extend to all tiny people. And you know what? I think my attitude shows radical respect for children rather than being a deficit in my feminine energy. As part of my journey to authenticity I’m happy to share my reasoning.

1. Not all children are created equal. Look, its pure evolution and genetics people. Not every child is cute and that’s just reality. Some have big ears, wrinkly faces, cross eyes. Comical? Absolutely! I’ll give you that but beautiful? Not always. In fact I’ll venture to say rarely. Babies, or infants in particular are odd looking. Like uncooked, not fully processed little blobs, which does not float my proverbial boat. You can dress them up with all the bows and frills all you like Delores, but they are bald and stunted. Hair sprouting oddly and quite often a very strange colour. Even the supposedly cute ones.

I’m not a mean person so it’s not like I go around saying, geeze that baby is fuggers! It’s more that the aesthetics of a person is not the thing I like to judge them on. Particularly upon first encounters. I think babies deserve the same introspection. I don’t really care if you are a blue eyed beauty with peachy skin. What I see is the potential that each little being holds in their tiny clenching fist. When seeing an infant for the first time I often find myself pondering, who will you become? How will you change the world and how will it change you? This wonder is showered upon the little red faced bean with a giant honker who looks just like Daddy or the tiny, long lashed doll in the pretty frock just the same.

2. Children are really annoying. They just can’t help it. They are designed to push all your buttons in order to explore their new world. I get all that. I don’t have to like it though. I don’t have to enjoy their childlike whimsy and mere presence if they are as irritating as balls. How do children learn the art of not being an annoying as fluff adult if people go around treating them as though each high pitched squeal is akin to the fluttering of angels’ wings? Just precious. Far out. Children deserve your respectful yet honest interaction. Just like anyone.

Again, I’m not advising that adults start aggressive diatribes at each tiny annoyance. Much the same way we would not bur up at every dick move adults throw our way. That would be a full time job. And if you do escalate often and rapidly then you may in fact be one of those excruciating adults I was referring to in column A.

I wonder how kids learn to trust the adults around them if we are not honest? ‘I don’t really enjoy you poking your spit soaked fingers in my eye thank you’, is usually enough. My thinking is that when you are thoughtful, kind, yet honest, children learn to trust you when you say you are impressed by something fabulous. Some kids are side splittingly funny or have really unique and interesting perspectives! That gives me a kick and I’ll often let them know when something tickles my fancy. But I won’t say it as a matter of course to ALL kids just because they are kids. How does that respect each child’s unique awesomeness? By giving cookie cutter responses we teach children there are only certain desirable attributes, which may be unattainable for some little people. It doesn’t allow them to start untangling the unique abilities at the core of their being.

I also have a theory that being inauthentic to children breeds entitled, forehead slapping, numpty adults. Yes, you heard that right. I blame the urge for parents to constantly rave about the beauty and sheer godlike status of their children, clapping with wonder at every shit in the potty, with the absolute plethora of narcissistic adults inhabiting my everyday orbit. It’s an epidemic with more lasting consequences than the corona virus I’m telling you.

It’s the inevitable circle of life that numpties often, but not always, breed numpties. Yep, some kids are arsehats because they’ve been indoctrinated into the clan. Exhibit A, Charles, who snarled at me this morning, “Why do you need to be in my class”? “Your head is poo”. And yours looks very similar to a pumpkin Chuckles so let’s keep things in perspective. I did not enjoy that interaction and made sure the little darling was aware in the nicest possible way.

3. Some kids are boring as batshit. Again, it’s nothing personal and it’s not their fault but some kids are repetitive and dull as dish water.

As with adults, there are some subjects that capture my interest, forming the basis of developing relationships of all kinds. It’s a purely personal thing and it doesn’t make someone good or bad, worthy or unworthy in any way. If you are heavily invested in day time soaps or reality TV I’ll likely tune out. As I will if board games or cards puts the wind up your sails. I would rather endure a pap smear with a rusty fork than play a game of poker. If, on the other hand, you can tell me the ins and outs of pinball machines from the 1970’s with great passion or can recite the lyrics of bad nineties rap it’s likely we’ll be friends for life. I don’t know anything about these subjects personally but I dig a quirky retro fix.

I’m no different with children. I respect your individual passions and interests. Whatever sparks your imagination is fine with me but if you’re talking to me endlessly about good old sponge bob or sparkly ponies I’m out buddy. I have, however, been know to have lengthy conversations with five year olds about the skeletal system and pondered existential kinks such as whether a corpse has eyeballs. And if they don’t, how does God see in your classroom, and by the way, why are tomatoes red? Fascinating!

In the current condition of hits and likes, followers, tweets and twats I feel like the global ‘we’ has become somewhat focused on being liked, adored, watched and worshipped rather than simply being authentically in tune with the things that make their hearts sing. Passionate people, in my books, are happy people. They know themselves well and are not swayed by the popular mass. If someone doesn’t like what you’re into a truly self-actualized grown up is able to see that as an interesting difference rather than a reflection of their inherent value or lack there of. Likewise, if you don’t enjoy someone else’s little passion flower then being able to say ‘not my cup of tea but I applaud your commitment to driving tiny cars around and around minuscule tracks’ with grace and care can be the epitome of maturity.

I think it’s reasonable to teach children this art as well. Children should be able to say and know what they like and don’t like without fear of ridicule or exclusion. In turn, they equally benefit from understanding how to not only respect difference but to truly understand that it’s ok to be different and feel comfortable in this unique territory. Perhaps the bullying epidemic we currently face would be inoculated against just a fraction if we could simply change the way we view these contrasts.

3. They are pretty disgusting. This is more a personal gag reflex but anyone who says the smell of a baby’s head is intoxicating is just dreaming. Children, especially babies but all children really, are unimaginably gross. I once heard a saying that parenthood was like being the roadie for a tiny rock band. They throw things, scream for drinks and snacks, vomit everywhere and sleep in strange places. That seems pretty accurate to me.

This one is probably less a developmental social service and more reality checking. The fabric softener ad of the white, pure baby bundle is just not helpful or accurate in any way. Kids stink. BAD. All the poop and goop and substances that ooze from every orifice is horrific. And they have questionable personal habits like biting their own toes nails. Which, left unchecked, could become the basis for growing basement dwelling hermits shunned by society. Quite frankly, I’m still pretty pissed that no one bothered to tell me about the tarish black substance that gushed in a continuous stream like toothpaste out of my own daughter’s back end minutes after she was born. I used pretty much a week’s supply of nappies, wipes and was reduced to stealing hospital towels all along the ward in an effort to stem the flow.

Yes, you heard right. With all of these opinions I did have some little squishy, shit makers of my own. My baby girl is oft times the antichrist, coming with her own theme song from the title track of the omen. She is also the littlest sparkler, breaking through the dark night. All parisienne, cool confidence packaged as a five year old. We are just getting to know each other and how to be in our shared stratospheres. This little whirling fizz and pop came crashing into my life repelling the notion of labels and boxes and pegs in round holes.

She is fluid, in gesture and movement. In gender, in body, in her ideas and vision of the world and yes, I adore every inch of her. I look at her tiny face often and wonder at the extraordinary beauty in her features. I lose moments in time wondering at her essence and how she sees the world. I fear her path will be hard and rough, her being not of this world entirely but she rallies with the most breathtaking faith filling every inch of her being. Knowing that she can be anything, absolutely anything or anyone she truly desires. There are no rules or rigidity that can hold this delightful little piece of space dust and light. At times it can be scary, the will and confidence this creation holds, as she deftly navigates her world.

And I have learnt from my girl that it is not my role or responsibility to approve of her, to gush over her. As her mother it is my responsibility to allow her to evolve into her own spirit and to do this she deserves my honesty. Kindness and love, no doubt. But always, always my honest and most authentic self. That’s how I best serve her. By showing her how to be content and comfortable in her own skin. By giving her permission to not have to please the adults around her. Time to focus on finding the person she is at her very core and where everyone else’s boundaries and limits are as she makes the journey to independence.

It’s a personal thing but I don’t think parenting can get any more respectful than that. She is magnificent. And yes, I’m so into her no one else need be.