Dear Future Child

Dear Future Child,

Growing up I never thought about having you. In fact, as I mentioned in my previous post (which will also be relevant to you as it includes my funeral wishes), I never thought about any of the things that little girls often dream about: weddings, husbands or making babies.  And here I am at the newly tender age of 31, married (weird), to a husband who is also hopefully your father (weirder) and thinking about having children (super fucking weird).  I don’t know if this is what they mean when they say your biological clock starts “ticking,” but it started happening sometime in my late 20’s when my usual reaction of seeing babies went from “ugh” to “awww” to “I WANNNTTT ONEEEE.”  Also my friends who are all a little bit older started having children, and I saw that even though it was incredibly hard it looked doable and the rewards outweighed the hardships.

My various reasons for wanting you are perverse; one being that I want to see what a kid that my husband, who is weird looking, and I, who am weird looking, make will look like.  We are a petri dish of bizarre genes, and right now we can safely assume that you will have flat feet, dimples, and a “distinct” nose, as those are the only physical traits we seem to share. I also think that your father and I like each other a whole lot, and we have lots of love to give to any little potato that we pop out, and you will be a goofy little fucker who will sing weird songs and have a sick sense of humor even though you will probably end up hating us because we are both so annoying to probably everyone but each other.

I want you to be a boy because girls scare the shit out of me. They say that you get tenfold of what you were like when you were a kid, and that means I will spawn the devil in female form. With a boy you basically just have to teach him to not get girls pregnant and to stay out of jail; with girls it’s constant worrying about her being raped and taken advantage of, non-stop until you die. Plus, a teenage girl is probably the worst thing in the entire world; they are, to use the polite term, “fucking cunts” to their mothers. I’d rather have a kid with an Oedipal complex then an Elektra complex (although I would prefer you have neither).

(Please note: I have met a bunch of lovely teenage girls in my life as well and I certainly hope if you are indeed a girl that you are one of them.)

Why do I keep THINKING about having children and not STFU and poop one out already?

Timing. Professionally I am not in a place in my “career” where I can take the time off to have you. I am not making enough money to justify paying someone else to raise you, and I am also not ready to give up what I am doing to raise an infant. When I was super frustrated a few years ago with my professional life, I said to your father, “Fuck it, let’s get to baby making,” and I was ready to quit music and be a stay-at-home mom, so we went on a last hurrah, a luxurious vacation to Tahiti. Somewhere on that trip I realized there was no way I could be a parent right then, I would end up resenting the child and for the rest of my life regretting that I didn’t follow through with my passions. So we put it on hold.

The same way I don’t get jealous of supermodels looks and body types but rather their ability to buy prime real estate at the age of 17, I find myself getting jealous of other female’s musicians success not because of the money and fame that they acquire (although the comfort of money is nice), but rather that they are then granted the luxury of taking the time to have children and move their lives forward in a natural progression while I am caught in a perpetual stasis. Female singers my age and younger are all popping ’em out, and at some point I am going to be at a crossroads. This is a classic “have your cake and eat it too” scenario and although that rarely works out, cake is delicious.

I also made the horrible mistake of entering into an industry that is looks based, and I just got in what is probably the best shape of my life. The idea of that all going away makes me sad, and I think it’s horrible that I even have to think that way. But I’m pretty sure that I am gonna be one of those ladies that is gonna go on a nine-month eating parade (which I am very much looking forward to) and gain a TON of weight and to get back into fighting shape, well, that’s gonna take awhile.

Also, when people in the music business find out I am married they always ask, “Are you planning on having children?” and I know that question is a test. No one wants to invest in a person that is gonna bow out at any moment and possibly forever. I get that. In this industry babies have been nicknamed “band killers.” Funnily enough my mom used to tell me that she didn’t get into medical school in the 70’s because they asked her if she wanted to have children and she said “Yes,” and they basically said, “Thanks, see ya later.” That might be true. It might also have been because she was fucking nuts, but that has always stuck with me.

And lastly, I am petrified to raise a child in this era.  Whenever I see teens on TV they are so monotone and lifeless and uninspired that it scares me. Every one of them sounds like they are reading badly-written lines from that MTV show NEXT. And even when they are excited it sounds like a valley girl on quaaludes with no inflection or personality. The idea of spawning something like that makes me physically ill. They all have their heads in their iPhones and iPads, and their sense of entitlement is insane. I will gladly admit that when I grew up I was spoiled as shit, but to think it’s gotten even worse blows me away. I have to pretend to think that we will raise you differently and you won’t turn out like that, but I think that is pompous to assume. Who knows? After all, we do live in Southern California, the home of the valley girl and undeserved socialite.

So I don’t know why, after all that, I still want kids, or when I will have you. And even if you do wind up being a total fucking asshole, we will be happy that you are healthy and if you don’t hurt or kill anyone. And if that is the best that I can hope for, that I don’t create a human being that kills other human beings, why even bother? So when you end up Googling (or whatever they call it at that point) your parents (probably when you’re at the age of two) and wind up reading this on whatever future computer bleep-blop device via your mind implant, remember that we love you, and please don’t kill anyone.

Love, your future mother,

Chantal

P.S. I feel inclined to add a disclaimer that I am in fact NOT pregnant nor am I trying to get pregnant, as anytime I mention the word baby everyone automatically assumes I am with child. Sorry, Grandpa.