If I could've given birth to a puppy...

I hate children.

Patrick says I’m not supposed to say that out loud, but it’s not like I go around kicking strollers. I just... don’t like them. Especially little girls. High-pitched voices, nonstop questions, constant stickiness — it’s like being trapped in a nightmare with glitter glue and juice boxes.

Babies? Even worse. Everyone lies and says babies are cute, but most of them look like angry root vegetables. I’ve seen my baby pictures. I was not cute. I looked like a disappointed potato in a frilly dress.

We talked about having one once — me and Patrick. Briefly. I think I panicked.

I imagined doing 100% of the work while Patrick went fishing. Patrick has the weakest stomach of anyone I ever met. If he had to change a diaper, I’d end up cleaning up his vomit. You can’t wake him up when he’s sleeping — he physically CANNOT function. Even if he was willing to contribute, it would end up being more work for me.

And if the baby turned out to be a girl instead of Patrick Jr.? Forget it. I could see it already — the tantrums, the barrettes, the inevitable pink glitter explosion. I’d be stuck for 18 years with someone who hated me for not letting her get bangs.

If I could have given birth to a puppy, I would’ve.

German Shepherd. Female. Already housebroken.

But then there was John.

He wasn’t mine, but he might as well have been.

John was different. John was effing adorable. White-blond hair, giant blue eyes, porcelain skin, and a sense of humor that cracked me up even at four years old. He was sweet, curious, a little weird — my kind of kid. Not loud, not sticky. Funny in a dry way. Like he’d been here before and didn’t love it the first time.

Once, Kara and Gino went to a Yankees game and left him with us for the night. Patrick told John he was “going down” for a nap and John thought it was the funniest thing in the world. The more Patrick said it, the harder he laughed — until we were all wheezing and crying, and the nap never happened.

On Thanksgiving, I used to put him in the turkey roasting pan and pull him around the kitchen like he was on a Macy’s float.

He called me “Ba.”

Still does.

He is, to this day, the only child I’ve ever wanted to be around on purpose. I love him with my whole twisted, dog-loving heart.

He is the sole exception to the “I hate children” rule, which I still stand by.

If someone hands me a baby, I panic.

But if John calls me, I drop everything.

So no, I didn’t have a kid. And no, I don’t regret it.

But if I could’ve had John?

I might’ve actually signed up.