Meow Meow I'm an Otter

I like kids, I swear to god. And I like my cousin's kids especially, because they have to be the most even-tempered children on the planet. But I CAN NOT PLAY ANOTHER GAME OF PEEKABOO! I read the older girl Eloise -- using all my excellent voices for Nana and the hotel manager and Skipperdee -- and then played her strange game of "marine mammals" or something featuring killer whales, otters, and baby seals, until my train left NYC this morning.

And I was ready to fling myself off the parapets.

I had dinner at a really excellent French Bistro last night with the kids' mom and my aunt, who are both fabulous women. (L'Absinthe on E. 67th for anyone up that-a-way.) They were talking about how it's so hard to make time for yourself when you have kids. I sat there pounding pinot and pondering how I make not enough time for myself and I'm stone cold childless! I nodded sagely, though, and pondered the outline of my forthcoming children's book about a bear actor on the Renaissance stage. (His name is Jim, and he has brown fur.)

On the walk home, we three chattered about a couple my aunt knew who had "decided to remain childless." She was floored by this, but yet there was an admiring tone in her voice. I think I'd very much like to have kids, and I think my kids would be pretty nifty since they'd be hard-wired to speak Megarita. And they'd likely be super duper tall unless I somehow end up breeding with a wee fella.

But they could also be dumb. And this is a fear of mine. Stupid children. I feel pretty good about being able to handle, love, care for children who had disabilities or who were maybe even unattractive, but what if they're dumb as buckets full of hair? Stumps? Bumps on logs? What Would We Talk About? It sounds like the worst date in history stretching out over 18+ years. Shudder.

Cloning maybe...yesssss...cloning.