I have no desire to have kids. None whatsoever. Babies are no good at pillaging or plundering, and they require way too much maintenance. Also, I'm not real keen on gaining a bunch of weight and a handful of stretch marks and a craving for pickles. I don't want to force eight pounds of kicking, screaming flesh and bones from my womb, and the idea of breast-feeding wigs me out.
If I am required to have people younger than myself living in my household, I would prefer to skip the first four or five years of life and pick up when they start getting useful. By five years old, a youngster would be capable of bringing me bon-bons in bed, coloring with me (crayons only! no markers!), and watching cartoons with me. Not sure how well they'd operate a cannon, but I bet we'll find out on MythBusters sooner or later.
The idea of adoption is a lot less intimidating than the idea of pregnancy, and the lone soft spot in my crinkly old heart wouldn't really mind adopting an older child. That's probably a by-product of Little Rachelskirts reading (and crying through) too many books about ten-year-old orphans who have given up all hope of being picked, though, so I'm not sure how serious Old Grumpyskirts will be about making that happen.
Anyway, seeing that I'm single and live with my parents, all of that is a long way off and isn't something I spend much time thinking about. However, I was scrolling through some of the more recent posts on Mighty Goods this morning, and I came across the only good reason I have ever found for having a toddler on hand—dressing it up like a sock monkey. Well played, internet. Well played.