Babies are like The Beatles of Human Life Development Stages

Look, I don't hate babies. I love babies. It's just that everybody says babies are so great. You get sick of hearing about it after a certain point. Babies this, babies that, yeah yeah yeah babies babies babies. It's like to listen to some people, life began with the babies and they're just the greatest thing period, and no sense talking about some of the great advances and growth that has happened since. And that's just so far off the mark, to me!

Yes, I understand that even of all of today's relevant, influential adults, almost all of them passed through a phase where they themselves were really strongly influenced by babyness - by their own babyness, even if not by someone elses'. The influence of babyness and of babies on our pop culture is pervasive, to the point where it is almost impossible to make any conjectures about what our world would be like, or look like, if there had never been any babies. So I'm not trying to say that the babies made no difference. I'm not trying to denigrate the position that the babies occupy in our cultural scheme of things. We all owe a pretty definite debt to the babies.

But enough! OK? Enough! Not every damn thing goes back to the babies alright? There's plenty of things that came after, that are way better than that. I'm sorry. Yes, "the babies" - extremely big in their time, huge impact, huge influence, but get over it already! Grow up. There's a lot going on out there in the world right now that puts the babies to shame. No offense to the babies! It's just a fact, and if you want to close your ears and eyes to everything vibrant and creative and mature right now in this life, or if you want to dismiss it by saying "oh, well, those people couldn't have done that if they hadn't first been babies" - as if that makes any sense - well, you know what, good for you. Stay stuck in your pathetic little closed-off mentality if you choose. Stay stuck in a mindset that can just goo and gurgle and coo softly to you and I guess remind you of your childhood or whatever. Shit your diapers indefinitely for all I care. But for me -

Hey, I love the babies. But there's way more and way better things in this life than just the dang babies.

Not My Blastula! Pt. 4 of an Educational Series

I don't really have anything to say about this one. It's kind of a boring phase. It's like the other one except with a hole in it. Big whup.

But wait 'til you see what comes next! Oh, baby. 

Coffee Vs. Babies

People say babies are cute.  Sometimes, I will painfully admit, they are.   Tiny, squishy, newborn things in one piece terry cloth suits, who stare around them like they're permanently drunk, have a vague, intangible adorability factor.   But don't mistake this for me suddenly having an affinity for these tiny squealing humans.  I only like them so long as they're a) not crying, b) not spitting up baby goo and c) not producing smells that would make a sewer worker blush.   And it helps when I don't have to be around them for more than a few minutes.  But they have a cuteness to them, in theory.   Mainly because they haven't had a chance to develop obnoxious personalities yet.  Once they're about two, forget about it.  I always said if I accidentally had one I'd be a great mother because the first thing I'd do is I'd pack that thing up and send it to my mom's house to be raised until it was eighteen and could leave home.  Yeah, only the best for my kid.  I mean, look how I turned out!

But yes, they can be cute. For instance, who doesn't love seeing a baby eat a piece of food he doesn't care for.  There's no, "No thank you, I don't much like that!"  Instead they look like you just fed them a big, old, salty dog poop.   Full-on face wrinkle, arms flailing, gagging sounds up the wazoo.

I might start registering disgust this way myself.

But no, I still don't want one of my own.  I'm perfectly happy to watch yours make the "this tastes like mashed ass" face right before he fills his diaper with the remnants of lunch.

But I'll be happy it's not my baby.  My baby sits here on my desk, steaming hot, smelling delicious and tasting bitter and sweet all at once.  My baby can power me for a whole morning and make me work more productively while chilling out my innards with its caffeinated goodness.    My baby doesn't poop anywhere which makes him maintenance free.  And all I have to feed him is a spoonful of sugar.   And that makes the medicine go down smooth...

Of course, your baby doesn't force you to suck a mint after holding him or else repel anyone in a 20 yard radius, but I still claim the victory.

Coffee 1, Babies 0.

Short, Uninteresting Musing

You know, someone needs to tell my brain I'm not having a baby.  It seems to be waking me up every two hours on average, so I'm thinking it wants me to feed something.  So I got up and ate a KitKat.  Problem solved.

HAPPY DUMB-SON-OF-A-BITCH DAY, YOU SAPS!!!

:-D

You'll Just Never Know What It's Like

If you haven't gone through the process of not having a baby, then you just don't know. And if you don't know, then maybe you should shut up! Because until you personally don't go through it yourself, you'll never know what it's like. You'll never know. Not what it's like! You won't know that. Or maybe...you won't know what it's not like. In either case, one or the other - you'll never know, so please just can it.

I tell you, you have no idea. It changed my whole life. That amazing day I didn't bring a brand new life into this world. That moment when it all sank in. I tell you, I stood there marveling as I held that precious bundle of nothing, that little sum total of my genetic impact upon future generations, that gurgling little...

Wait. Sorry, that's my stomach. I'm hungry, I need to wrap this post up and go get something to eat.

Basically you get the idea. Until you haven't had that same experience, until you know what it's like to not have a baby, your mind just can't process what it's like, really. Don't bother trying. I'm telling you it can't. So keep yer damn yap shut on that score, why don't cha.

Those of you who DO know what it's like...look, I know I don't need me to apologize for the all abusive cracks. I don't need to explain myself to you. Because I know you're right there with me! Knowing what it's like. And probably - most definitely, most likely, like me - you're more than a little sick of these know-nothing noodges shooting their mouth off about something they know nothing about.

When they don't even know.

The Assassin is Cranky

I did some moseying around WalMart last night getting some soil to re-pot a plant I just received as a gift.  Here lies a dilemma.  I like plants, but I seem unable to sustain their lifespans, because instead of a green thumb, I appear to have some sort of black diseased stump.   Anything that photosynthesizes wilts and expires after a few days in my company.   I'd like to think I have another digit that's designated for babies and small children and that maybe it's supposed to be say....pink...and is all about sustaining and nurturing tiny, wrinkled pink humans and turning them into ripe, rosy-cheeked, successful, productive, perky adults with gay abandon.  But on me, that finger is also black and diseased like my cold, dead heart.   Because that baby is not, was not, will never be, MINE.

Because I'm a terrible person who likes to do things and go places and be impulsive and sleep till 10 on a Saturday.   I am a rebel who hates cartoons and Disney and toys all over the floor and reading bedtime stories.  I am a person who ENJOYS cursing.  Babies are not part of my life.   And I like it that way.

I avoid babies and children avidly.  For their part, they seem to know this and radiate towards me, evilly, like little satellites.   And WalMart seems to be ground zero for nemesis baby-related mayhem.   Every time I go there I'm accosted by shrieking examples of tiny, cranky humans and every time I go there I seem to be having my special "lady time" which makes this all the more enjoyable.

Did you know there's a spot at every WalMart, (usually, according to me, it's in the parking lot directly above your car although a friend of mine claims it's between the push-up bras and the fake leather handbags) where a giant light floods down from above and the Hallelujah Chorus can faintly be heard, sung by a choir of angels playing harps?  If you are to avoid the severe stress and teeth gnashing induced by a wide range of tantruming tots slamming carts into your ankles with drunken abandon, you must find this spot and get directly under it, in order to redirect the rays of severe crank exploding all around you.

And immediately drive home and drink some tequila.

Not Having A Baby Checklist: Is The Timing Really Right?

I'm a little conflicted about the whole thing. Not having a baby is a big responsibility, and the timing is as important as anything else!

I mean, maybe I should have not had a baby earlier. Was it irresponsible of me? To wait until now to not have a baby? I start to think forward, counting the years of school, college, this and that. I don't want to be in a position where I'm doddering and feeble by the time the baby I don't have is not graduating college!

I mean, I'm not there yet. It's not like I'm 40, 50, 60 years old, but I'm not a spring puppy like I was, either!

It's a hard thing to think about, because then you start to worry about the logistics and the whole ticking-clock thing. Then the next thing you know, you may end up making a poor decision badly. Basing it on panic, and not on sound and responsible concerns. Don't do it! Panic never solves anything! Not really. It just leads to goof-ups and regrets.

Any big life decision needs calm consideration, and maybe only a small amount of panic, if any. The last thing you want is to rush into not having a baby.

So I have to seriously think about this. Am I doing the right thing here? Or rather, am I not?

It's Mother's Day!

There's a mother's day, but how come there's no baby's day!

Oh yeah that's right.

No need.

Please Note:

Brief note to self and other interested parties:

When a friend shows you her newborn baby and with hushed tones and misty eyes, whispers, "Isn't she BEAUTIFUL!"  the correct response is not, "Do you know who Alfred Hitchcock is?  She looks exactly like  him!"

Yup.

Not My Morula: Part Whatever of an Educational Series

So, when last we left our zygote - excuse me, not "our" zygote - yours maybe! I have no idea. Don't ask me whose zygote, I have no dog in that fight. Point is, it was a zygote. But it very quickly undergoes a startling metaphorphosis! The fused nucleus begins dividing, via a process called "cleavage":



(not my cleavage)

So we see here, at first this looks pretty good for our pal the mitochondria. He's got a buddy! A big, googly-eyed buddy. But not so fast, this process is as alarming as it is inexorable:



Told you. That mitochondria's not so sanguine about matters now is he! He's like, "oh shit it's the blob!" And he's not far off. Because look:



This here is what is called a "morula." (but cf. the post title! ...and n.b. it while you're at it!)

There's a couple few things to point out at this stage:

1. All of the cell division thus far has been mitotic. That means I know the technical terms.

2. The cleavage at this point has all been just subdividing and subdividing - the actual dudeuole is still the same size! He hasn't gotten any bigger!

2.5 A female dudeuole would be called a dudetteicule.

3. That mitochondria's fine. Don't worry about him. He's in there someplace! It's a little cramped, maybe, but that's the worst of it.

...until the next stage unfolds...

More Children Who Are Not Mine

I just recently stopped suffering from a pestilence that had me red-eyed and wheezy and most of all, bad tempered.  So naturally, during this pestilence - which obviously had seeped into my brain cavity, rendering me completely insane - I thought it would be a good idea to go to WalMart to get some supplies of a nasal nature.   This is a bad idea most of the time, but certainly it's doubly so when you're a touch under the weather.  Because WalMart is a breeding ground of ex-fetus related hilarity. Cherubic wunderkind of all descriptions, crapping into their onesies, bashing toys off my shins and shrieking like their hearts might burst in every aisle as they seem to follow me around the store like tiny, snotty, uncoordinated zombies.

Now I'm sure if these angel babes belong to you, you can find an adorability (it is a word, now) factor in all of this, but the thing is, none of them are my babies.  In fact, as a person who would rather birth a tractor tire than a fleshy entity that I'm going to have to feed and hide my beer from for 18 years, I'm somewhat distressed by the presence of cute, red, swollen-faced teary tykes and instead of comforting them, I am imagining shoving an Ambien-laced popsicle in their noise orifice.

I told you.  Bad-tempered.

Now my pestilence has eased and normal service has resumed.  Now I just want to lock all toddlers in the closet under the stairs until they are old enough to leave home, or do some serious cleaning.

Phew!  Lucky I don't have any.

So: Headphones. Need Some Big Ol' Headphones. Suitable for Abdominal Placement!

I got to get me some big ol' headphones, to nestle onto either side of my belly. I will pump pure Mozart right in there.

Now, I know, I'm not having a baby, but I figure if Mozart can turn babies into virtuosos, maybe the same effect will hold true for other things.

I could have more musical poos?

Not My Zygote Pt.2

It's a boy!


It's not my boy. I don't know whose boy it is.

Non Babies are Money Savers

It's amazing how much easier it is to be not having a baby, than the alternative.  I mean for a start, your favorite Levi's are always going to fit.  You're never going to have to bid your feet goodbye till you can see them again, unless of course, you suddenly find yourself stranded in a cupcake shop and have to eat your way out, in which case, I want your life!

Anyway, planning for your non baby is just so much less restricting than for an actual infant, that's all I'm saying.

For example, feeding a non baby is easy and cheap.  No special formulas (formulae?) with the correct vitamins and nutritional input are necessary, no strained veggies and zombie flesh colored purees, to boost the immune system in your little toothless wonder.  Having a non baby means freedom at the supermarket.  Because your non baby can eat anything.  Anything.  This facilitates things substantially.  Instead of expensive baby formulated tins of food, you can buy those 19 cent packets of noodles, like generic Ramen.  Or real Ramen if you're fancy and have 30 cents to spare.  Mmmmm MSG.  What non baby doesn't adore it?  You can feed a non baby anything you want frankly;  old cabbage, odor eaters, vodka - they'll never complain or even suffer for it.  In fact, you don't have to feed it at all!  I know, right?  Who wouldn't want that!

Also, added bonus, you can call it something like "Aloysius" without fear of bullying or ridicule.

Not My Zygote: Part 1 of An Educational Series

Here we see the zygote (not mine! I don't know whose this is):

The egg nucleus and the sperm nucleus (whose-ever it is) are only just beginning to fuse! What an exciting moment. With the exchange of DNA we see happening at this very instant, this little round dude now contains all the makings of a whole new human being, but it's not mine. Not my new human being! I had nothing to do with it. I don't even know who this woman is, I never saw her. Or not woman, I guess, but egg.

I don't mean to depersonalize the whole being of a human female down into a single one of her reproductive cells!

Still, take a look at what's going on here. Even though this is Not My Zygote, I'm pretty proud of the job I did drawing it. Over there to the right, that's a mitochondria. Technically I'm not sure that's accurate, but it's the only cell structure I can really draw properly and damn if I was going to leave it out! Does a woman's egg actually have mitochondrions in it? I'd say "probably." After all, they have to come from someplace, and there's no room in the sperm!

The little squiggly things and dots represent...little squiggly things and dots. The zygote - the very first stage of human development - is rife with these.

I guess I have to cop to the sperm vs. egg nucleus colors, though. Pink for egg, blue for sperm, on the nuclear membrane? When in fact, of course they're about the same color! It's pretty obvious all I'm doing here is needlessly perpetuating gender stereotypes. Right at the very moment of conception! Which will probably lead to needless confusion and anxiety on gender issues later (as the artificial imposition of societal constructs always does, upon a young mind). So yeah. I have to cop to that, I guess, but there's kind of an artistic issue too! One that I think is valid. Because if the whole THING was pink, picture how that would look?!

Exactly.

Artistically, even in the most scientific drawings, sometimes you need to break it up a little. Add a little variety into the color palette, to create visual interest. If you think half your blood vessels are really red and the other half are really blue, you're in for a surprise if you ever get cut open wide enough for a good look-see!

This has been Not My Zygote: Part 1 of An Educational Series.

Not My Early Pregnancy Symptoms

So lately my nipples have been really sensitive.

At least we know what it's not!

I'm Pretty Sure I Can Prove That's Not My Baby.

But can we do it without the bloodwork? I hate bloodwork.

There should be a pee test for that.

Not My Etiquette

This past weekend, I was traipsing around the supermarket, lost in my own terribly important thoughts like, "Who cured the bacon and what was wrong with it to begin with?" and "I must find Cadbury Creme Egg goo, immediately, or hostages will have to be taken!" when my train of thought was rudely interrupted by some squalling little red-faced toothless thing, strapped ceremoniously to its male-human's chest like a fleshy, pink hell-parachute.

"She might need changing." its female human helpfully suggested and the man nodded in agreement, passed his cart to the female and took the screeching serpent child outside to the car to get a diaper status update.

No, that's what happened in my dreams.  What he actually did was unstrap that wailing banshee from his pectorals, gently laid it down on a rack in the bakery counter - a counter where they put bread and tasty, flaky baked goods - and then proceeded to undo the demon child's panty region and poke around for foreign matter as though he were indeed, checking the density of dough.

What the shit, guy?

When I don't have my baby I will never de-poop it in the supermarket; I will never take photos of its olive green liquid poop jamboree to share on Facebook;  I will never sniff its non diaper in a public place and make people who are browsing the impressive cake section, consider projectile vomiting into a cheesecake.

No, the baby I'm not having will be perfect.  A quiet, clean, non-pooping, non-vomiting, non-squalling, in fact non-existent, little ball of perfection.

That's the big advantage about not having a baby, it can be anything you damn well want.

Misgivings? Ambivalence? It's Kind of Hard to Say!

It's weird for me, because this was never a particular dream of mine, you know? It's not like it's a shock, it's not like I'm necessarily surprised or elated or even anything really. I never had a pre-set, pre-primed emotional response ready to deal with suddenly being in this situation. I mean, of course I'm happy! I guess I'm happy, it's certainly a blessing in so many ways! It's a beautiful thing, a natural thing.

So I would never say I'm taken aback, or upset by it. It's just that I had no preparation for it - not mentally. I was never dead-set for, against, or indifferent. But if you told me last year that a year from now I'd be right smack in the middle of not being about to have a kid, I'd have said well hey bud, how can you be so sure? Can you see into the future, are you psychic? Are you a prophet of God, and do speak with His authority? Or are you some sort of hypothetical creation of my future year-from-now self, telling me this now so that future me can make some point about his mental state upon receiving that kind of news?

I bet that'd shut you up - me saying that! Because I hate to break it to you, but it's not too polite to go around telling people what they're going to be doing a year from now, in these really delicate, personal areas. Maybe what if I told you that a year from now, you'd learn to mind your business, how would that news be received? Perhaps too subtle a point for a big prognosticator like you!

Anyway, I'll just say that I don't particularly appreciate having some dude lay out my future for me. There's a little thing called Free Will, that kind of sticks in my craw about that.

So anyway, like I'm saying, as you can see I was hit pretty much completely unprepared. But I hope I'm dealing about as well as most people, who find themselves in this same situation.

Gotta Re-Examine The Ol' Lifestyle Now, I Guess!

So it's only been a few days since this whole Baby Blog idea got rolling, but already I'm beginning to realize the huge impact a commitment like this is going to have on my life. How many things are there that I may have to look at now, that may have to be re-examined? Not being in the process of being about to have a baby, wow. It really throws your whole life into perspective. Somebody once used the word "epiphany"...that person was not far wrong.

I mean, even just take your everyday lifestyle things. And you might say, me being the man and all, I don't actually need to cut down on drinking alcohol, or eliminate cigarettes for instance. But maybe I should anyway, you know? I should at least think about it! Right?

Hm. 

Hmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Nah, I'm probably fine there. I think I'm good on the alcohol/tobacco front. Firearms, I'm kind of up in the air on. But since the government groups all three together, I'd say I'm probably good on all three.  

But those are just random examples. You could name off just about anything else, too, with equal validity. There's just so much that needs to be re-examined, that I've sort of taken for granted about my life, and almost all of those things are probably going to have to be either looked at or changed.

Most of them, probably I'm leaning toward the "looked at" side of that equation.

My Tuppence Worth

As Joe mentioned down below there, it's so exciting to be entering the blog world of not having a baby.  I can hardly contain myself.  And as he also pointed out, it's not his baby I'm not having, we wouldn't want people getting the wrong idea here.  We're both not having babies, respectively.  Isn't that a coincidence?

Anyway, while he is diplomatically giving intelligent accounts of non-pregnancy and its related matters, I will be mainly concentrating on pointing out the trials and dismays of babies in general, being semi offensive and griping about how I don't care about your baby's first words or steps or the first time he farted in the tub and how I certainly don't want to see your photos of your kid's junk.

See Joe is a nice person.  I am not.

Anyhoo, I look forward to pouring over websites and books on design deciding exactly how I want to not paint my nursery and figuring out if Baby Gap or something more upscale would be a better choice for not buying baby clothes for the baby I am not having.

It's all so exhilarating, this expedition into the murky waters of not having a lifeform spring forth from my Netherlands.

Here're some things I like hearing about:

Cake
Tequila
Juicy gossip
Travel
What's happening on "Lost"
Farts

Here's some stuff I I don't give a bimble about:

Your baby
Your friend's baby
Babies
Stuff about eating or burying afterbirths

So, welcome!

Me And You And Baby Makes Two!

That's because 1+1+0 = 2.

So anyway, a big announcement! But first a bit of background. A day or two ago I decided to take on a big undertaking: I decided to start a Baby Blog. Seems like everybody and their mother is coming out with a Baby Blog, and I, perhaps giddily, perhaps ill-advisedly, decided to leap into that breach as well. In the same way as so many others start a Baby Blog to document the fun and the excitement and anticipation of having a baby, I wanted to do the same thing, albeit, modified by the circumstance that I'm not in the process of having a baby. Still, I wanted to document that process. The travails, the hardships, the joys and anticipations all wrapped up in the whole journey of not being about to have a kid. That's a big deal, and a big responsibility in itself!

But I have to admit it now: Boy, I did not know what I was getting into! There's an incredibly big responsibility involved in having a Baby Blog, and I guess all I really saw was the fun and excitement. I think the same could be said for a lot of people. They just jump right into it, without a lot of forethought into the consequences and responsibilities involved.

Well, thank God I had a helping angel waiting in the wings. I'm pleased and proud to announce that The Vegetable Assassin has come on board, to help with the rather overwhelming task, the big commitment, of having a Baby Blog. Thanks for the assist, VA! I've found it can be extremely hard, especially in today's economy, for one person to shoulder all the responsibilities involved in not having a baby, all by himself.

Together though, I think we've got this whole thing licked!!

Standing Up For the Truth

What's the deal, big guy?  I see your baby there, squalling in its stroller.

What's that?  Cute you say?  Not the word I'd use.  Where you see an adorable, little, pink bundle made of rainbows and the breath of unicorns and colored by a flush of pride and wonder because you made that from your own sticky fluids, I see this:

Because let's face it, all babies look sort of like moonshine-soaked, inbred mountain dwellers in a horror movie until they're at least 2 years old.  And your baby?  No exception.  Sorry.  In fact, have you ever seen a turtle without its shell?  

Yep.  Your baby.

But it's okay.  It's not just your baby.  It's all babies.  It'd even be my baby if I had a baby.  They're all tiny, fat, bald mutants with no teeth or social skills, so ask me again if I think he's cute, when he reaches his fifth birthday and doesn't nod his giant bobble-head like David Hasselhoff at an open bar and I'll be happy to re-evaluate.

The Ultrasound: Aw, Would You Look At That!

That's not my baby.

I was positively not involved.