My Child Will Probably Die.

I've never wanted children. Economically speaking children are terrible investments, with little to no return. Raising kids is a luxury only the well off can afford (and not be miserable after).

As I reach the age where I live alone and take on responsibilities for myself, I realize that perhaps I was simply aware of my short-comings as a general human being. Things I take care of tend to die a lot. My pets and potted plants live an extremely short life with me.

Right now my venus flytrap is a blackened little stub sitting sadly in its cow-printed pot. I put it in the full spring sun, so it looks even sadder next to the vibrant blooming weeds flowers in the garden. All my research tells me that my plant isn't dead: it's hibernating. Yet it's now a warm 23˚C (74˚F for all you Americans) and spring has been in the air for more than a week.

It reminds me of the cactus I used to have back home. At first it would be green and vibrant, perhaps it would even have a flower off to the side. Then as I keep it in my room for a couple of weeks it starts going soft and taking on a dirty shade of brown, even as I water it religiously every week. (It's a cactus, I learned my lesson after drowning my first one.)

I don't have green thumbs, this much I know. I try my hands at indoor gardens (spring onions, anyone?) and they still die very quickly. I can literally kill off even the strongest of weeds. Is this a good thing? I'm not sure.

I wonder if I can blame this on my black thumb, or is a telltale sign that I probably shouldn't even think about raising a child because I will most likely kill it off somehow. Maybe I'm just not cut out to be raising anything at all. So I guess in the end I'll just be throwing it all to le petit ami. His green thumb makes up for my lack of skill, so I guess it works!