Terrible confession

I don't ever really say anything controversial on this blog. There was the time that I blogged about our Christmas tree, I guess. And recently, I suggested that making falafel could be shortcut by adding stuff to hummus. But usually, I say nothing the least bit inflammatory.

Until today. Because I have something terrible to admit to the blogosphere...

I don't really like other people's children.

I know that is not gracious, kind, earth-mother-y or pastorly, but it is true. I am ok with recognizing them as children of God, unique creations, beloved of their own parents, etc., etc., BUT I, myself, do not really enjoy them.

There are exceptions, found mainly in those to whom I am related by blood, and exceptionally cute babies, generally those whose parents I adore. But for the most part, I'm ok with not hanging out with another person's child.

I really liked other people's children before I had my own. But after having my own, I feel very differently. And it's not that I feel my own children are superior to all others; it's just that it takes enough energy to be with them that I don't want to be with someone else's children. And I certainly don't want to hug and kiss them and play games with them and have fun with them. Nor do I want someone else to do this for mine.

This is but one of the million reasons that I am not a daycare provider and never will be. And it is one of the million reasons we don't use childcare providers.

I don't really like other people's kids.

And I'm hoping I get over this before I'm a grandparent.