It’s always cliche to start out a story this way, but I have to get something off of my chest. It’s something that has haunted me for years, but it’s something that I can’t get away from. I’m definitely not ashamed of it, but it’s frowned upon by a lot of people so I’m going to come right out and say it.

I don’t like kids.

I know, I know. How could someone six feet three inches tall be scared of something so small? I know I could fend them off with a swift punt, but that’s not the point. There’s just something about children (mainly babies) that makes me shudder and run in the opposite direction.

Maybe I should rephrase the statement above. It’s not that I don’t like kids, it’s just that I have more of an irrational fear, so I choose to avoid them, which is insanely difficult to do ever since my siblings have been popping ’em out left and right. Family gatherings have since been a strain on my mental health. Some people have that natural instinct to reach out, hold and nurture a baby, but not me. When people bring a newborn into the room, I run like crazy.

I hate it when people force me to hold their baby. Like, seriously? You’re just gonna up and force me to hold that thing? I have a hard enough time holding the crystal ornaments that my aunt gets my mom for Christmas every year, let alone a living, breathing, potato-ish lump of skin with appendages. That’s an automatic deal-breaker in my book. Sure, I can hold the thing if I’m forced to (much to my dislike), but that’s it. I don’t know what to do with it. They’re awkward, squirmy, have that weird soft spot on their heads and they have something dripping out of every orifice of their bodies. I can’t handle it. It’s disgusting and it’s too much pressure.

Here’s another thing. I don’t care who you are or who you’re married to, your baby is not cute. You could be the most beautiful couple in the world, but there is no way that thing is cute. It looks like an alien and will until around the age of 10 to 12 months. Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful in the sense that God made it, but other than that, it’s hideous. Save your breath and don’t try to convince me otherwise. It’ll be like talking to a brick wall.

I can’t be the only one who thinks that talking to a kid is hard, right? I mean, half of the time they are unintelligible because they are talking nonsense, and the other half that you do understand had to do with the other half that they were saying that you didn’t understand, so you can’t respond to them. It’s like having a conversation with someone speaking a foreign language. Sure, you took Spanish in high school, but you are in no way prepared to carry on a conversation with someone in Spanish unless you’re exchanging pleasantries, saying random phrases that were instilled into your head, or in my case, talking about food. It’s the same with baby talk. Oh, and don’t forget about the weird phases they go through, such as asking “why,” and my personal favorite: knock-knock jokes that make absolutely no sense.

If you like kids, more power to you. But, in the event that you are “blessed” with the news of your new (dare I say it…) spawn, you better hope you won’t need me because you won’t be seeing me for a couple of years. It’ll be better for our relationship if you spare me.