Or how a hillbilly gets really real for one minute.
This week I decided to write a post for Something Clever 2.0’s Theme Thursday. Topic: Other people’s kids.
I was going to write something all funny and stuff about kids getting on my nerves and being glad that I don’t have any. However, I’ve been writing/editing this damn poetry, and now my gooey nougaty center is all exposed. So yeah, scrap idea one. Here’s what’s up. Seeing other people’s kids…makes my heart twinge.
One of my poems I wrote is entitled, “The Child Who Never Was.” I discuss my fears of never being able to give birth. At this point it’s a toss-up. I had surgery in October. It was to get rid of all these damn fibroids that had taken root. It took all of winter for me to heal up, and I’m still not healed emotionally. I had too much time to think about “what-ifs” “maybes” and “Oh dear God it hurts to roll over.” However, I’m trying to live in the moment, and not dwell on it. The Mathemagician and I aren’t ready for babies yet, so why worry about it, right? (Yeah right. I inherited the worry gene from my Mom, along with my love for reading, and disdain for eating a lot of garlic.)
I honestly love other people’s kids. I miss my nieces and nephews (blood related and not). They’re all special to me, and I want to give them all hugs n kisses. Strangers kids are cool. You know the cute giggly ones. Not the tired, cranky, stressed out, screaming, throwing themselves are the floor kids. Of course, at the point in the day, I’m sure they’re not that cute to their parents either. So if/when we decide to give the green lights to babies, I guess I’ll have to supplement my baby craving with my friends’ kids. (That sounds like I’m a horrible cannibal, who only likes to eat the young. If I were a cannibal, I’d totally be equal-opportunity.)
What do you think about other people’s kids? How does children influence your writing, if at all?