So I hold this thing... just like my dog, right?

Babies.

Okay, raise your hand if you're a woman and your ovaries just ached a little.

First of all, I would like to make a toast to the good friends in my life who are raising children. I have amazing friends, and they pick amazing partners. Needless to say, their kids are... awesome. Seriously awesome. Perhaps I'm biased, but I love them. Beautiful, well-behaved, intelligent, but to me - mysterious little creatures. I like it that way, though. I hold my dance teacher's baby and realize that it's pretty much impossible to be in a bad mood when you have a wide-eyed little thing suckling your pinky finger. I remember at the last dance competition, all my nervousness melted away when I got to hang on to her little one for a while (praying she wouldn't spit up on my velvet). I respect the people in my life who have decided to have and raise children, and I want to say thank-you for letting me hold them, even though I have no idea what I'm doing.

No one in my family has, or has had, babies. Give them a few years - both my cousins are probably on the road. But at this moment, I'm 31, and no babies in the family. I remember when my close childhood friend who we vacation with first handed me her... almost one year old? We laugh when we see comedies where people don't know how to hold a baby (usually men) but seriously. It doesn't just come naturally. I just tried to remember something my mother (bless her) told me many years ago. Women have strong, larger hips because that's where we prop the babies. My mother was in no way archaic, and rarely spoke about these things. She just said it matter-of-fact. As in - if you ever hold a baby, prop the kid on your hip and you're good to go. It actually works! My mother, however, didn't tell me what to do when said hungry baby starts grabbing at your non-existent (and milkless) boobs, but that's another story.

I've heard from newer mothers that when they hear a baby cry, even if on the television, their breasts start leaking milk. To this I think - biology... what a fricking TRIP.

This is all coming to me because of two things. One, a close (but now distant - we haven't spoken lately) friend is pregnant with her second, and I couldn't be happier. Why? Because if there's anyone in this world who can raise beautiful, respectful children, it's her and her hubby. I like to hear stories about really good people having babies. It gives me hope.

So two. I watched a television show today about a couple who adopt a 12 year-old. And I cried. I mean, I WEPT. It was then that I realized something I've known and said, but never really understood. I don't have a ticking clock in my ovaries. I don't want to have a baby, birth a baby, raise a baby. I mean, I have NO desire. There isn't a single hormone in me that tweaks around little babies, though needless to say I find them fascinating and fun.

I want to foster, and/or adopt, and I want to do it with older kids. Anyone about 12 years old and up. I've always wanted this, and I always will. If I meet a partner who doesn't want to, I would be willing to compromise. If I meet a partner who wants me to have a baby with him, I'm gone. And if I meet no one, perhaps one day it will be me and a cranky, belligerent, pubescent young girl, and I would be pretty happy with that.

The thing is, I don't like my genes. This isn't an excuse - there's a lot of reasons I don't want to birth babies, but this is just one. I don't like my genes. Given all that could go on in my bloodline, between mental illness, addiction, and degenerative brain disorders, I don't believe that I need to continue that line. There are amazing children here in our very country who may want a family (even if it's a fucked up single social worker) and I would rather foster that relationship than give birth to a child and watch all of my genetic flaws, and those of my family, eat away at the child I love.

It sounds harsh, and it is. On the other hand, I plan on living my life for me, and when I have the money and stability to give someone special a home - it won't matter what age I am, or whether or not my ovaries are working. There's no pressure... she or he may or may not come to me. But if he or she does, I will be there, with open arms.

PS