finally, another post

I was at a commercial audition yesterday to be a Dad in a "Wichita family." And as I was waiting, and waiting, and waiting to go in, I noticed something. Each audition group consisted of a "Dad," "Mom," "Teen," and "Younger Son." So the waiting room was filled with "Moms" as well as actual mothers of the kids auditioning for "teen" or "younger son." And even when they weren't standing near any kids, I could easily tell the difference between the real and the fake moms. They were probably all the same average age, but the real moms looked soooo much older. They're skin sagged further down their faces. Their eyes were that much dimmer. And, frankly, their hips and butts that much huger. In short, they look tired and worn down.

This is what kids do to you. I actually think they are bad for your health. There must be a study... okay, I just looked. And I can't find one. Yet. But I'm sure there's a study out there that compares the life expectancy of people with kids against those without. And who knows? Maybe the study shows that people with kids live longer, but they sure as hell don't look as good.

I guess I'm thinking about this because I'm seriously questioning whether I ever want children of my own. I've always assumed I would have them some day. It has just been a given. Now, however, I wonder if I'd have the patience to be a parent. To be that restricted in my movements by a little person who doesn't appreciate-- who CAN'T appreciate-- how much I've sacrificed for him or her; how much of a burden they are to me; how many years of my life I have lost to give life to the ungrateful shit. :-)

Is this how I would feel? If there is even the remotest chance I would, I do not want any. Friends of mine with kids tell me that I wouldn't feel that way because of the joy and unconditional love a parent feels when their child is born. But plenty of parents in this world are resentful of their kids. Plenty have probably had this amazing wash of love on first sight of their newborn, only to later blame the child for making them miserable. Of course, plenty have not, but it shows that I could go either way. It is not a given that I would love my child so much that I would avoid mistreating it or resenting it for wearing me down to a gray, saggy, wrinkled bag of stress.

Do I want to be a parent or just play one on tv?