(2 Jan, 2012)
Another good reason I would make a truly atrocious parent:
I have no maternal instinct. I never have. I have never possessed a single molecule of parental love.
Also, there were signs that not only was I NOT INTERESTED in being a mommy, I was probably pretty alarmingly poorly suited to the whole business. And not just that I didn't like playing with babydolls, either--a lot of girls don't like doing that--but I honestly had no idea HOW to play with a baby doll despite having grown up around people with babies and having friends who played with baby dolls. I usually just ended up pretending the doll was something more interesting and amusing, like a dog or an airplane. If harangued into a game of 'house', I would invariably elect to be the Daddy so I could 'go to work' and leave the area and have an excuse not to participate. Sometimes I'd mix it up a bit and want to be the dog. (Also, like other girls, we were in the habit of 'playing' the characters from our favourite movies and I would always elect to be the male characters while the girls fought over being the female characters. I always noticed that the guys had more fun and got to do shit like break into castles and swing on ropes.)
Come on, stop that, I think by now we've established that I was never anywhere NEAR normal at any point in my life.
I think I only ever owned one baby doll my whole life and my parents took it away from me because I had more fun drawing all over it with a pen than I did actually playing with it. For some reason, I distinctly remember that the doll was a male doll and had a penis--this was more than twenty years ago and I swear to fuck my baby doll had a penis. No idea why I remember that so vividly.
Because I had been given baby dolls, I was also given accessories and among these was, quite naturally, a toy pram.
The pram was used to mow down my enemies and run over the enemy toys.
I've been vocal about my dislike of children and disinterest in having any for almost longer than I've been physically capable of producing them. My parents, while not especially happy about it, were never really argumentative. I guess by that point it just sealed the deal--they were probably pretty sure by then that I wasn't mother-material if I was going to do things like draw on my children and use their prams to run people down.
Good call, mom.
I have no maternal instinct. I never have. I have never possessed a single molecule of parental love.
Also, there were signs that not only was I NOT INTERESTED in being a mommy, I was probably pretty alarmingly poorly suited to the whole business. And not just that I didn't like playing with babydolls, either--a lot of girls don't like doing that--but I honestly had no idea HOW to play with a baby doll despite having grown up around people with babies and having friends who played with baby dolls. I usually just ended up pretending the doll was something more interesting and amusing, like a dog or an airplane. If harangued into a game of 'house', I would invariably elect to be the Daddy so I could 'go to work' and leave the area and have an excuse not to participate. Sometimes I'd mix it up a bit and want to be the dog. (Also, like other girls, we were in the habit of 'playing' the characters from our favourite movies and I would always elect to be the male characters while the girls fought over being the female characters. I always noticed that the guys had more fun and got to do shit like break into castles and swing on ropes.)
Come on, stop that, I think by now we've established that I was never anywhere NEAR normal at any point in my life.
I think I only ever owned one baby doll my whole life and my parents took it away from me because I had more fun drawing all over it with a pen than I did actually playing with it. For some reason, I distinctly remember that the doll was a male doll and had a penis--this was more than twenty years ago and I swear to fuck my baby doll had a penis. No idea why I remember that so vividly.
Because I had been given baby dolls, I was also given accessories and among these was, quite naturally, a toy pram.
The pram was used to mow down my enemies and run over the enemy toys.
I've been vocal about my dislike of children and disinterest in having any for almost longer than I've been physically capable of producing them. My parents, while not especially happy about it, were never really argumentative. I guess by that point it just sealed the deal--they were probably pretty sure by then that I wasn't mother-material if I was going to do things like draw on my children and use their prams to run people down.
Good call, mom.
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