I know that I’ll be a horrible mom. I won’t want to change diapers. Bodily fluids make me gag. I will not celebrate birthdays, because I see no point in doing so. You’re another year older, woohoo. I haven’t accidentally dropped you on your head yet, hooray! And why give a child money when they lose teeth? Would you give your kid $50 if he lost an arm? Christmas has lost its meaning entirely, so no gift exchange at Christmastime. And Easter? Give me a break. Rabbits do not lay eggs, and they won’t lay eggs for my children. How did that even become a tradition, to hide candy from children? I don’t want to lie to my kids, and get their hopes up for some kind of magic to happen. Or when they turn 18, when it all just disappears and they’re not allowed to be a kid again, I don’t want them to sigh and suck it up and move on. I want them to realize what these holidays are for. To spend time with people you love and cherish the moments you have together. To smile and wonder how you got so lucky to have a family who truly cares for you. I don’t want to disappoint my kids.