So many things seem to conspire against it happening. It never seems to fit in with their schedule. It’s always “after I get my degree”, “after I’m established in my career”, “after I’m married”, etc. Truth be told, while I have to respect their decision I also resent the hell out of it. I’ve actually tried twice, once seriously, to get someone pregnant. Maybe part of me conspires against myself. I’ll be the first to admit that the thought of being responsible for another life and being their role model scares the shit out of me. In some ways I still feel like I’m learning my damn self. I’ve never really had a father figure and I wonder how I can be something I don’t know and never had. The last thing I’d ever want is to bring someone into this world, abandon them, and make them feel like I
felt feel. Hell, what if I screw them up even more than I was? Is it fair to even take that chance and hope against hope that I’m a lot better at it than I have any right to be?
Sometimes, I think that I’ve reconciled myself to the fact that children aren’t going to be in my future. Sometimes, I even tell myself that it’s destiny. After all, I’ve had plenty of unprotected sex, if it were meant for me to be a father, shouldn’t I, wouldn’t I already be one by now? Sometimes, given how things are, my past, and my personality I think it might even be for the better. But there’s still that other side of me that gleams hope, telling me that I’m not my father and I don’t have to be. I shouldn’t give up because it’s not too late, and I might surprise myself with my capacity to love and be loved.
I want (a) kid(s).