Made you Google that word, didn’t I? Even if you didn’t, I’m going to pretend that you did to make myself smile that I was able to cause my readers to something. The word itself isn’t entirely correct for this purpose; my  issue doesn’t simply lie with children that are teenagers. I simply have an issue with kids. I’m not ashamed to admit this fact: I have a problem with kids, they make me feel uneasy.

I love my sons, and this doesn’t apply to them. My own spawns are immune to this general feeling I have. I understand them, I know what to do with them. I’m more comfortable around them. I excel at mothering them. Throw another kid in the mix? I have no clue at all, and it makes me anxious. I don’t know what to do with these little people running around my house, screaming and hitting each other. My instinct is to threaten to throw poopy diapers at their head, because it’s not painful and very hilarious. (Seriously, imagine a bratty kid covered in poop. Try not to laugh.) Would I throw one at my kid? No way. Would I throw one at my nephews for being annoying? Definitely, or at least they know well enough not to find out.

I wonder if it has to do with the fact that people are most comfortable with their own kids. Or something more. I remember when my first niece and nephew was born. I never had an urge to hold them or coo over them. Though, I don’t coo over my children either. I speak to them as I would an adult, minus the inappropriate things that come out of my mouth. Babies are stinky balls of poop and drool, and the 14-year-old me wanted nothing to do with all that. I don’t think I ever really wanted kids until I had my first son. Then I realized I liked my kid, just had a problem with other kids that weren’t mine. I go to birthday parties for kids a lot now, and a friend laughed at me as a bunch ran by yelling and throwing torn paper napkins at one another and I muttered “I hate kids”. There might be truth there, I definitely hate annoying kids.

Maybe I just don’t feel comfortable around other kids, related or not. I don’t know  how to relate to them, nor do I get a giddy desire to play with them. I smile at the cute ones, I can smile at them. Ask my friends how many times I’ve asked to hold their babies, I don’t recall ever doing that. I’m good with kids, I’m great with them. I wonder if that makes me weird, that feeling of disconnect with other children. It’s not to say that I don’t love the little ones in my family, I just admire them from afar. It’s one thing to drop your own child on his head; you drop another person’s kid you suddenly become the devil.