I've been waiting to write this post forever, as Homer's scoring flurry early in the season has slowed as of late.
To explain how pumped I am for Homer to achieve this milestone, I need to tell you a key fact about myself: I hate kids. And I don't mean, "Oh, I'm too young to enjoy the presence of babies" or "Kids get on my nerves a little bit, but I love to marvel at how cute they are." Nah. Not so much. The only exception I make to this otherwise unwavering characteristic of my personality is that I love my niece and nephews to pieces, mostly, I presume, because they are my niece and nephews, and, therefore, are an extension of my awesomeness by proxy. If I decide to have children one day, I know I'll love them with all my heart, but because I'm not yet a parent, I don't know what that's like.
But I can't really deal with other people's children. I don't have the patience or the interest. I don't want to have my coworker throw ten thousand photos of her grandchildren in my face and expect me to comment enthusiastically on every single fucking last one of them. I don't want to be forced to hold someone else's baby. I don't want to sit next to screaming little mini heathens in a restaurant and be expected to find their blathering and screeching adorable. I don't want to be expected to babysit and occupy their attention when they come into my place of employment and are left unattended by their inept parents.
It's just not me. I recognize this as perhaps unusual, maybe even completely unorthodox. As a member of the female sex, I know I'm generally expected to have some sort of intrinsic maternal instinct at some point in my life. But at age 23, I don't. (To clarify, I'm not completely anti-children/anti-parenting: I think parents should dote on their kids and support their kids and think their kids are just the greatest fucking thing on earth since sliced bread, so if you happen to be a parent, and you're reading this, and you're a great parent--rock on. It's just that so often, people freak out over other people's babies and whatnot; I don't. And it doesn't really faze me that I don't have that inclination.)
All that being said, watching Homer do his thing and score this landmark goal, for me, is the closest thing I've ever felt to being proud of someone else's kid do something amazing. I love Homer so much. And if this is what having that misplaced maternal instinct feels like, then I'm going to be a kickass parent in the event that someday, Brian and I decide to give the whole bun-in-the-oven thing the old college try because to be honest with you, I just want to grab Homer, take him to a store, and tell him to pick out his favorite toy for doing such a great job. And maybe we can go for a Happy Meal and some ice cream afterwards. And, if we have time, maybe we'll even go to the park. And, oh geez, I heart you, Homer.
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