Put Eyes in the Back of Your Head

It's always the most radically inappropriate thoughts that stick around.

For example, I can't be the only one who regularly maintains brief fantasies about stealing babies. Or having one left at your doorstep. Or being the only teenage mother ever to have a perfect Hallmark life. Or having a moving car screech to a halt in front of them, a frazzled woman leap out, hand you her infant, tell you she's chosen you to have it because she's a mental person/addict/ne'er-do-well/mother of a Disney character (who must by necessity be absent), and then screeching off again (a true fantasy from middle school). Or maybe being chosen to inherit the world's most winsome infant and/or preschooler(s), so as in the process of raising it, become a vastly better person and have all your flaws are erased by mothering such a charming infant, who routinely makes you realize wise lessons, and then you end up marrying the friendly neighbourhood priest instead of having that series of ill-advised flings like you were hoping (TM 'Raising Helen').

In any case, this genre of fantasy is clearly really odd and inappropriate, especially if you're a 12-19 year old female whose life would most certainly NOT benefit from the addition of any of the above mentioned miniature people. Still, they stick around, and threaten us with the impending karmic doom of secretly, just a little, hoping to maybe possibly somehow encourage them to come true. But maybe it isn't about the babies at all; maybe it's the self-importance, the purity, the sigh of relief that comes from acquiring the beauty and fulfillment and attention of babies and motherhood without the inconvenience and judgment of getting knocked up, pissing off your parents, admitting fault, and pooing yourself on the delivery table. For example, I'm almost 100% certain that I was the only 14 year-old who had a dream/fantasy about achieving an immaculate virgin conception, only no one believed her. But I knew. I knew I was getting this Jesus-fetus as a reward for just how fucking great I was, no matter if no boy had even deigned to kiss me yet, let alone fertilize me, or if I was chubby and alone. Oh, the ego stroke of the foundling baby.

But all that is speculation. The only thing that I do know for sure is that I still want to steal your baby, so Mommas: grow eyes in the back of your head and watch out for the lady with the improbable Jesus-fetus.


Who I'm Judging Right Now: myself, more than a little, and the 14 year-olds running around the library hissing swear words and "shhhhs!" at each other. They make me feel crotchety and old. I certainly *don't* want to steal them.