Tick Tock on my Maternal Clock

My maternal instinct kicked in recently. I don’t actually want to have a baby. Mostly I just want to look at them, and occasionally hang out with them. My Google habits have been altered, too—instead of the ever-popular “puppies playing” image search, I’ve sneaked in a “babies in costumes” search. You’ve never known true happiness until you see an infant dressed as a slice of pizza.

Times have definitely changed how we look at proper mothering ages. Right now, I’m mostly concerned with being an independent college student (this means I limit calling my mom to twice a week). If I lived in the Old West, I’d probably already have a cabin full o’ rowdy pioneer kids. I’d also know how to shoot buffalo. I base my knowledge of pioneer life solely off of Little House on the Prairie books.

Maybe I can just guilt one of my siblings into having a kid. “Aunt” is probably the best position, anyway, because you get visitation rights but can give the baby back as soon as it poops or starts crying. I don’t want to have to deal with any real baby problems. Mostly I’m just in it for the peek-a-boo. Unfortunately, I already think I’d be a painfully unhip aunt, given that my pop culture knowledge wanes around 1999. “Hey kids, remember Catdog? Want to come over to Aunty Megan’s and play some N64?” By now, N64 is the equivalent of Atari, and Catdog might as well be Steamboat Willie.

My sister is married and owns a house, which seems very adult even though she has a cat named after an Invader Zim character—I could probably convince her to pop one out. My brother is problematic, though. He’s a high school junior, so I guess I don’t really want him to play the Michael Cera in Juno role.

So I guess for I’ll just fulfill my mothering instincts with other people’s offspring. I’m just hoping someone will let me name their baby. I’m really good at naming things. I have a houseplant called Salvidor, and if you sat and talked to him for a minute you’d realize the name is spot-on. Is there a career option for naming other people’s babies?

Maybe someday I’ll be ready for my own personal baby, but I’m not sure if anything could prepare me for the actual birthing process. The good news is that I’ve devised a solution. When I’m finally a mature, prepared adult, I’ll hit up a shopping mall and just steal a baby. Just grab a stroller and start running. If you’re gonna put your baby on wheels, I’m gonna take it as an invitation.

Those child leashes make more sense now. It’s not to stop the kids from getting in trouble, but to protect them from me. Good thing I have scissors.

Of course, publishing this plan might pose some problems. I’m pretty sure this is grounds for a restraining order from Baby GAP. Still, I’m free for babysitting!