Not at “Ceviche Loco” — Contemplating Birthing & Raising Children

Well, I’ve decided to relax on the “Ceviche Loco” today because it requires driving in rain.  Whereas “Tacos Mexico” is conveniently right next door to my office.  I’m a native Los Angeleno without a proper car defroster and a broken air conditioner, and I hate driving in the rain.  It’s sticky and sweaty and blurry.  You may ask, “why does this chick need an air conditioner in the rain?”  I don’t.  I just wanted to let you know it was broken.

So, my aunt’s friend is visiting from Mexico with her 12-year old son and I gave them a ride to the local mall this morning.  They were going through the regular mother-child banter.  He’s got a cold, she wants him to put on the extra sweater.  He says he’s hot and doesn’t need the extra sweater because he’s “FINE.”

The back and forth of  “put on your sweater, I don’t want you to get sicker” and “I’m hot.  I don’t want to.  I’m FINE” continues for about 15 minutes.  Honestly, I wasn’t annoyed or irritated in the least.  I actually found it quite endearing … like when I watch mother lionesses on “Animal Planet” teaching their lion cubs how to survive in the wild.

I got to thinking again — as I have this year more than any year before — about “having children.”  I’m 27-years old and a growing number of my female friends are either getting pregnant, getting engaged and talking about pregnancy, or hurting over the fact that they aren’t pregnant because they want to be a mommy “sooooo bad.”

I really enjoy living in a neighborhood with lots of families.  It’s refreshing and invigorating to watch parents play with, teach, and love their little thems.  I like kids too.  They’re prime proof that Nature is ONE SMART MOTHER.  Kids are the cutest, most adorable, funny, inquisitive, endearing useless little pieces of life on earth.  They’re completely co-dependent on another for survival and do nothing but swallow the energy, knowledge, attention, and money of those they depend on.

Yet we’d die for them and sacrifice our last piece of bread if it came down to choosing between feeding our hungry mouths or theirs.

Many of these baby-wanting women in my life also yearn to carry a mooching, growing, draining tadpole-ish creature in their belly for 9 months.  A parasitic specimen, which will mercilessly feed off their body’s nutrients, throw their hormones out of wack, stretch their body to uncomfortable proportions, and finally, force them to endure the potentially fatal adventure of pushing a fully formed human being out of their vaginas in what has been described as pain SO bad it’s “worse than sitting on a hot iron cow-brander and spinning.”  Or something like that…

Lesbians, Straight & Bi-Sexual women, those with booming mula-making careers and taxing minimum-wage 9 to 5-ers, are similarly going through this HARDCORE “I want to have a baby soooo bad” phase.  I honestly don’t know much about men’s need to procreate since I don’t hang with that many and when I do we rarely talk about “babies” or “raising a child.”  We tend to banter more about art projects and the real hoebags/housewives of new jersey.  I mainly hang out with gay men — Bears, Cubs, and Otters to be exact. I’m not saying they don’t want babies and BAD, they just haven’t talked about it much with me.

So I’m sitting in the car with this woman and her child FEELING the unconditional love between them.  They bicker over his sweater.  Essentially over his health and care, and I wonder to myself…AGAIN…

Do I want to bring a baby into this world or raise a child (whether I give birth to it or not)?

Reactively, the base of my gut releases a claw that grabs onto blood cells and rushes throughout me in a thick dark red stream, speeding up my heart beat. It explodes at the tip of my spinal cord spreading, like electricity, through the metropolitan cities of my mind. Finally, it cools and solidifies into these three words: HELL-FUCKING-NO

HELL-FUCKING-NO I don’t want to give birth or raise children! … But why?  WHY? I like families.  I like kids.  I think mother-child relationships are beautiful and priceless.

Why then has my biological clock been dipped in acid?

What killed my need to mother? Maybe painful childhood trauma?  Maybe the fact that I grew up the elder sister/substitute father figure? … BUT I know plenty of people with much more putrid rancid childhoods than mine who were responsible for too many siblings and scatter-brain drug-addicted parents at too young an age who STILL really want to have kids.

The deep silent abyss of my belly thanks God every day that I am not “with child.”

People speak about “having kids” so lightly — like it’s a Wii game or a holiday movie with a definitive beginning, middle, and end.  In my experience, parenting children is anything but that.

You’re conditioning another human being with your every word and action.  You’re responsible for keeping this little person alive, healthy, and sane … so that maybe one day they won’t turn into yet another terrible whiplash upon the back of humanity.  You’re responsible for loving and helping your child unconditionally — even if they’re born with unmanageable frightening ailments like aspergers, paranoid schizophrenia, a passion for football, or conservative values.  To top it off, you never EVER stop raising your kids.  18 – Shmayteen!  Adults are more lost, require more wisdom and guidance, than children do!

It’s ultimately a toss of the dice how nature and nurture mix to create the human being you’re raising.  He could turn out to be Mussolini or Paul Newman?  She could turn out to be Octomom or Rosa Parks?

Seems like a lot of unnecessary pressure to me.  I think I’ll pass on giving birth to and/or raising a child in this life.

I’d enjoy playing “coooky aunt” to the kids a whole lot more: Cooookster gets to joke, laugh, and run around eating candy while wearing a crab hat.

Then when the kids start getting cranky because they’re tired, Aunty Vanessa gets to hug them goodbye, drive home wearing the crab hat because it’s mine, and pray that those cute little munchkins don’t grow up to be racist serial-killing prostitutes who steals senior citizens’ retirement funds — from the comfiness of my warm silent peaceful bed.

I must say: Props to all the moms out there!!!!  Being a mom is a harrowing selfless task.  Thanks for keeping the human species alive, ladies…

Because I REALLY don’t want to do it!

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About vanessalibertadgarcia

Vanessa Libertad Garcia is a Cuban – American writer & filmmaker who grew up between the burbs’ and hoods of Los Angeles. A graduate of Loyola Marymount University, she’s completed a myriad of successful projects that tackle both the film and literary worlds. Ms. Garcia has worked in various capacities as writer, director, and producer on fiction films such as the HSF/McNamara Arts Grant recipient “A Two Woman One Act” and documentaries such as “Maid in America,” which debuted on PBS’ Independent Lens. Two films out of the many, which have screened at top festivals such as The Los Angeles Film Fest, The Habana Film Fest, Cinequest, and Outfest to name a few. Ms. Garcia has had writings published by venerated literary staple Lambda Literary and the up-and-coming Amor Fati. Her first book “The Voting Booth After Dark: Despicable, Embarrassing, Repulsive” is drawing laudable reviews. It’s available for purchase at amazon.com, barnes&noble.com, and many other sites. She presently has a feature film titled “Dear Dios” based on the books’ characters and a second book — the collection of poetry “Bloody Fucking Hell” — in development. View all posts by vanessalibertadgarcia

One response to “Not at “Ceviche Loco” — Contemplating Birthing & Raising Children

  • Leo

    So happy you’re blogging dewders. I’m with you on the Cooky Aunt alternative. No sleepovers needed, 9 to 5 their butts and get all the rest you want. 😉

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