Baby, you know I love ya...

Baby shower today. Reinforced my desire not to get pregnant. A hundred onesies*, recieving blankets**, diapers, bottles, bathing supplies, and bobbles of bobbles and fuzzy fluffy things later I was staring at the bugs in the flourescent lights to get away from the plethora of powder blue boy's playthings and why didn't anyone get yellow ducks or green rhinosauri? And ohmycod, is that a Dale Earnhart onesie! What evil things has this child yet to see!

People tell me, you never know what the future will bring. You might want a child! You might have a child! And I tell them that my biological clock got lost in the womb. I don't want a baby. I don't want to buy belly heavy maternity clothes and feast on odd food combinations until a watermelon comes through the eye of a needle and starts anew my life of such blessed singularity.

I say, I've never been in love. And how can growth of such a magnitude of a baby's worth creation come out of someone who's never been in love? Call it a mental disorder. I'll bite. Give me pills, and make me sterile. I'll create with my mind, not my womb. My children won't strain my back, but pull a muscle in my brain.

It's a lonely, crowded life in here. And darned if this scrooge is going to dialate for oversized head drooler to come barreling through.

Gah. It turned into a rant. Figures.

For the babylingo impaired:
*onesie-a garment worn that is a one-piece outfit (usually cute peppered with animals of various cartoon creations
*recieving blanket-puke buddy, drool mat, burp towel, blech (also usually peppered with cartoon actors but more uselessly so considering the eventual soiling of the cloth)

currently: oily

current picture:

p.s. www.layreview.blogspot.com

I have to stop apologizing for things I shouldn't be apologizing for.