3rd January
As I come to the end of an enjoyable week off work, it seems about time I was frank about something I’ve been putting off till now, but which is as much my reason for not wanting children as any other: My inherent laziness.
This laziness doesn’t apply at my job, where I’m proud to say I work about as hard as anyone. In fact, in my first fifteen years there, I had only ever taken 2 half-days off sick – which I guess says as much for my run of good health (touch wood!) as it does for my refusal to take ‘sickies’. Though whether this would still have been the case if I loathed my job is another matter (I certainly wouldn’t have worked there for this long), and the increase in my workload in the past year, resulting in a lot more unpaid overtime, is certainly taking some of the enjoyment away. Still, I never have to take work home with me, and it’s rare to be called in for weekend work, and that’s how I like it.
Because once I get home I like spending as much time as I can doing my own thing, whether it’s catching up on video-taped programs, reading my latest batch of graphic novels from Mile High Comics, going to the cinema, drawing my comic strip, or mucking around on the Internet.
(I like my sleep too, and need my eight hours a night, but I don’t like getting too much of it on weekends or holidays – not just because I’ll be groggy for the rest of the day, but because I’m always conscious of things I need to read or watch that I might otherwise miss out on…)
The fact is, I hate doing work around the house – our garden is testament to that – and I’m a champion procrastinator, especially when it comes to household repairs, washing the car, or even paying bills. And though I used to share all the household duties with my sister (she wasn’t keen on doing them either), A has unwittingly encouraged my laziness by taking on most of the chores herself, and generally declining any offers of help that I make. Not that I’m complaining, you understand, but it has helped cement me into a lifestyle that’s going to receive a rude shock when our kid comes along and suddenly I find I have very little leisure time to speak of. There are compensations for this, people tell me, but I’m having to take their word for it.
**************************************************
A showed me some pictures in the Sheila Kitzinger book that depict a woman giving birth in graphic detail, and expressed some concern about how something so big could possibly fit through such a small aperture. I was tempted to suggest that it wasn’t too late to back out of this whole ‘having kids’ thing, but politely refrained from doing so.
Later, watching news items about the devastation wrought by the recent earthquakes and tsunamis, A became unexpectedly emotional, so we turned the TV off…
This laziness doesn’t apply at my job, where I’m proud to say I work about as hard as anyone. In fact, in my first fifteen years there, I had only ever taken 2 half-days off sick – which I guess says as much for my run of good health (touch wood!) as it does for my refusal to take ‘sickies’. Though whether this would still have been the case if I loathed my job is another matter (I certainly wouldn’t have worked there for this long), and the increase in my workload in the past year, resulting in a lot more unpaid overtime, is certainly taking some of the enjoyment away. Still, I never have to take work home with me, and it’s rare to be called in for weekend work, and that’s how I like it.
Because once I get home I like spending as much time as I can doing my own thing, whether it’s catching up on video-taped programs, reading my latest batch of graphic novels from Mile High Comics, going to the cinema, drawing my comic strip, or mucking around on the Internet.
(I like my sleep too, and need my eight hours a night, but I don’t like getting too much of it on weekends or holidays – not just because I’ll be groggy for the rest of the day, but because I’m always conscious of things I need to read or watch that I might otherwise miss out on…)
The fact is, I hate doing work around the house – our garden is testament to that – and I’m a champion procrastinator, especially when it comes to household repairs, washing the car, or even paying bills. And though I used to share all the household duties with my sister (she wasn’t keen on doing them either), A has unwittingly encouraged my laziness by taking on most of the chores herself, and generally declining any offers of help that I make. Not that I’m complaining, you understand, but it has helped cement me into a lifestyle that’s going to receive a rude shock when our kid comes along and suddenly I find I have very little leisure time to speak of. There are compensations for this, people tell me, but I’m having to take their word for it.
**************************************************
A showed me some pictures in the Sheila Kitzinger book that depict a woman giving birth in graphic detail, and expressed some concern about how something so big could possibly fit through such a small aperture. I was tempted to suggest that it wasn’t too late to back out of this whole ‘having kids’ thing, but politely refrained from doing so.
Later, watching news items about the devastation wrought by the recent earthquakes and tsunamis, A became unexpectedly emotional, so we turned the TV off…
posted by Robert at 5:45 PM
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