“Because it’s a parasite and parasites are the creepiest kind of animal in the whole world. It lives inside your body and sucks all the nutrients out of your blood and eats the calcium out of your bones so they get all brittle and you’re more likely to develop osteoporosis when you get old. It literally sucks the life out of you, and what do you get? You get fat, your hair falls out, your boobs get weird, and then you’re stuck with this tiny thing you have to take care of, that keeps you awake at night, and does the father help? No, he’s busy moaning about how he wishes you never had the thing because now he’s so tied down and his life is just ruined and it’s all because of you, you and this monster that already ate all this stuff from your body and that’s going to keep eating you for the rest of your life, chipping away at you in little bits and it’s just going to hate you in the end anyway because it ruined your life and everything sucks for you so much you’re going to take everything out on it because you have poor coping skills because your parents did the same thing to you. Why on earth would anyone want that?”
That was me in 1998, in emphatic response to my health teacher asking me why I was so sure I would never have kids and why I thought I wouldn’t change my mind when I got older. I still believe that reproducing, for me, would be foolish.
Pros: I’d get to play with a baby sometimes, I think my genes would be a good addition to the human pool, and my chances of a guarantee of being buried in a marked grave after I die would go up a little.
Cons: Every single other thing I can think of. I can barely afford to feed myself and my cat. I don’t want to own a car. I already know a bunch of babies I can play with. I’m bad at bills and paperwork. I like to stay out late. I hate cleaning the house. I lock myself out of the house and forget things all the time. Like, important things. These are all excellent reasons for me to not to produce a child. None of these reasons, though, are because of how gross the little parasite is and how fundamentally disgusting pregnancy and the process of gestation is. Because while logic stands firmly on the anti-reproduction side of the fence, I WANT A GODDAMN BABY WITH EVERY CELL IN MY BODY.
I’m not scared of that scene from Alien anymore, now I’m scared of how much I feel like Sil from Species. My brain chants, “babies suck, babies suck, throw the babies in the garbage truck,” while my blood seethes and every beat of my heart screams, “BREED. BREED. BREED. BREED.”
These. Don’t. Help.
Are. You. Serious.
This Canadian company is owned by a mother and son team, and all their BABY MOCCASINS(!) are handcrafted in Canada. They are soft. They are tiny. I hold one in the palm of my hand and it melts my heart of stone. A tiny itsy bitsy little shoe for a tiny itsy bitsy burbly little human. A little tiny human with soft downy hair on his tiny head, a head that smells like heaven. Tiny little moccasins for ten tiny little toes, little toes you can pinch. Please get a wallet or a sock for my ovaries to bite down on, because the sight of these sends my reproductive system into seizure.
And when your little baby starts to grow, he can grow into these:
If you need one more little push to get these for a baby or toddler you know, check out the packaging design:
This box will be the box that the child keeps colored pencils in. And broken yo-yo’s. And robin’s egg shells and perfect skipping stones and the torn page from a dirty magazine that he found in the woods and candy wrappers with jokes on them and bottle caps and a pocketknife. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love.