I'm not a mom. I'm not a good babysitter, either.

When I began planning today's Life & Leisure section, a co-worker of mine suggested that we -- the three women on the news staff -- all share our own personal perspectives on motherhood.

At first I really felt like I needed to pass on that suggestion. I am 30 years old, and I have no children. I may be an expert on dogs and puppies, but changing diapers, adjusting car seats and calming crying children are just not my specialties.

To tell you the truth, I'm scared to death to babysit, and boy, does that drive my only brother, who has two young kids, nuts.

I think we have had more arguments over my reluctancy to babysit than we had over who got shotgun (the front seat) while growing up together.

When I was home, in New York, a couple of weeks ago, I did watch his kids for a very short time while my brother worked and my sister-in-law attended an appointment of some sort.

Within one minute, the youngest of the two kids, Gabriel, 1, was screaming. I had no clue what had happened but when I picked him up off the kitchen floor he was bleeding profusely from his mouth.

I called my brother, crying worse than Gabe, in a complete state of panic, telling him what was happening.

I was about to drive the little rascal to the hospital -- where I would have also checked myself into the mental health unit -- when I realized he had only bitten his tongue.

Thankfully, his mom, Tiffany (a.k.a super mom), made it home in time to save us both.

Had it been serious, I'm not sure I would have made it to the hospital anyway, because I am not smart enough to figure out how to work those fancy car seats these days.

Okay, fine, call me Britney Spears, but there has got to be a better way to strap a poor kid into a vehicle than what's out there now.

Also during this same trip home, I had driven my other nephew -- the terrorist I write about from time to time -- to my mom's house for dinner. I managed to get him out of the seat just fine, but when it was time to go home, I asked my mom to strap him in.

He wasn't ready to leave, and so maybe if he weren't kicking me and trying to bite me I could have figured it out on my own.

Just kidding, he really is a sweet child -- such a sweet child that I have nicknamed him "birth control."

In all seriousness, I am not sure if children are in my future. I used to stress about this, but I've finally reached a point in my life where I am almost able to say, "You know what, it's OK if I don't have children."

There's nothing that bothers me more than when people ask me why I don't have kids, or when I plan on having them.

There are many women in this world who can't have children, and -- maybe I'm going out on a real limb here -- but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to guess that there is probably nothing more annoying and painful than answering that question.

It's as if some people want people in that position to feel "less than" for not having a car full of little rug rats.

For me personally, there are so many elements that go into this decision, or this subject, rather. Maybe I can't have kids, maybe I don't want kids -- but the bottom line is that it is my decision. I know (and I hope other women reading this column, who may relate to me, also know) that a woman's purpose in life is not defined by her desire nor her ability to procreate.

On a side note, I'll also say that I'm a huge advocate for adoption and I know that I would certainly consider adoption if it turns out I can't have kids, and I reach the point where I feel the brave desire to take on the world's most challenging job.

(See today's feature story for a very special story about adoption written by Mary Reeves.)

So, as we celebrate our mothers on this very special day, I can't offer a first-hand testimony as to what it's like to be a mom.

What I can do, however, is ask, on this day and always, for those of you reading this column to remember, with sensitivity, all those other women out there -- the caregivers, the teachers, the lady next to you at the grocery store -- who may be desperately trying to have children of their own.

In closing, I would like to wish my own mom, Joanne, a happy Mother's Day from 1,200 miles away.

My mom has had to take the back seat here lately as I pour all my energy into helping my sick father.

I haven't forgotten about you, Mom, and how well you cared for me as I grew up.

And, know this: If I am a mother one day, I may need to take a few lessons about how to work those car seats -- and everything else motherhood entails -- from you, the best mom I know.

Happy Mother's Day!

-- Sadie Fowler is lifestyles editor at the Times-Gazette. Her column, Sadie Says, runs every Sunday. She may be reached at sfowler@t-g.com or 684-1200 ext. 214.