Baby Blues

Baby Blues

By Muriel Palanca



I do not want to grow up too fast. I like just being a kid.

I learned a lot from the mistakes these other people did.

I know I have a maternal side, but it is buried very deep down.

And I’m afraid the baby I have will look like a wrinkled clown.

I do not have the emotional capacity to care for a little child.

I like the way that I look right now. Being pregnant is not my style.

Teenage mood swings and bad attitude are enough without a runt.

I already have enough of those at the end of every month.

My fuse is short and I can’t deal with crying all night long.

And I can’t change the diapers; I think I’d do it wrong.

I don’t know what I’d feed my kid. I don’t want it to choke.

And how will I buy what it needs, because right now I sure am broke.

I know my parents will have a fit and be extremely disappointed.

By the time they get through with me, my limbs will be double jointed.

I’d probably have to quit my life, my school career and dreams.

I do not want to give that up for sleepless nights and screams.

I know I am responsible when it comes to school and grades

But I can’t stand to baby-sit unless I know I’m being paid.

I am a slob and find it hard to take care of just myself.

You’re asking for a miracle if I have to watch over someone else.

I like my freedom and having time to do what I want to do.

I do not want to heat a bottle or clean up baby poo.

I’d miss my friends, my movie nights and checking guys out at the mall.

Pushing around a baby stroller is not very hot at all.

It’s unfair to knocked up women who always get the blame.

The guys still say it’s not their kid even though the DNA’s the same.

It’s easy for guys. It’s never their fault. I hate society’s views.

I wish men could get pregnant sometime. Women would be very amused.

I know I sound cynical and somewhat cold hearted, but right now is just not the time.

If ever I saw a baby, I’d smile to myself because I’d be grateful it wasn’t mine.

*I took a child development class. For our final project, we could take care of a robot baby for an entire weekend…or write a bunch of things. I chose to write.