The Toughest Job of All

The other day I was eating lunch at Potbelly's Sandwiches after a long morning of last-minute Christmas shopping (although to be honest, I was actually just starting my shopping that day). As I ate my sandwich, I looked around and realized that I was one of the only single people in the restaurant. I was surrounded by families with small children, and young couples with strollers.

There was a family with several children sitting at the table across from me. I didn't mean to eavesdrop on their conversation, but I couldn't help it; they were talking loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"Mom! Josh drank my soda!"

"That's because she spit in mine!"

"Paul! Are you going to think about someone besides yourself and help me with these kids?"

"Kelly, no, I said NO! Do NOT eat that! That was on the floor! Oh my...TAKE THAT OUT OF YOUR MOUTH RIGHT NOW!"

"Haha, she's going to be poisoned!"

"You're getting it all over your shirt...oh, for heaven's sake, now you're getting it all over MY shirt!"

As I watched them, I didn't feel annoyed by the fact that they were distracting me from eating. I didn't feel relieved that I don't have children. Instead, for the first time, I thought about what it would be like to have children of my own.

I admire anyone who is a parent, because I think that being a parent has to be the toughest job in the world. You don't get paid; you never retire; you're on the clock 24/7. Being President or Oprah's assistant would probably tie for second as far as tough jobs go.

But on the other hand, I do like the idea of having a daughter or son (or maybe both) who shares my DNA and maybe even grows up to look a little like me (except my nose would look better on them). I'm not sure what kind of parent I would be though. All I know is that I would love them, protect them, and teach them everything I know.

To be honest, I never really wanted to have children before. When I was a teenager, I always thought I'd want to have a family when I got older. But in the meantime, I focused on my work. I wanted to be a professor and a writer more than I wanted to be a mother.

The only time I remotely considered having children was when I thought about being an egg donor; the problem with that was that there was always the possibility that in eighteen years a young man or woman would knock on my front door. He or she would keep twitching from all the caffeine he or she would always be drinking, and he or she would point a finger at me and shriek, "It's your fault I'm like this!"

But other than that I don't usually feel that urge to become a mother. I see babies being pushed in strollers, and occasionally one of them will smile up at me in that wonderful way that babies do; I always smile back. Maybe I'm thinking about this now because I'm pushing thirty and the clock is ticking. Maybe it's because I'm still single while so many other people my age already have families. Maybe it's because deep down, I feel guilty because there are other things I want to do instead.