Designed

Ellie Erickson. Five foot, five inches. Hundred and nine pounds. Barely-tanned, flawless skin. Chest-length blonde hair. Bright blue eyes. Picture-perfect white smile. Aside from my looks, I'm fifteen years old. I attend Elks Wood High. I maintain a 4.0 Grade Point Average while being involved in everything from the school newspaper to band, choir to drama, Principal's Council to the National Honor Society, sports to Student Council. Yup, that's me, the cookie-cutter version of perfect. But I wasn't supposed to be like this. I'm a designer baby. My genes were hand-picked by my parents. They knew exactly how I would turn out before I was even born.

What do I think of all this? It's crap. I don't know who I really am. Who I was supposed to turn out to be. Was I supposed to be the cookie-cutter version of perfect? Or was I supposed to be some messed up kid who smoked, drank, was high every other day and had sex with a different guy every weekend?

Yeah, I know what you're thinking. Why wouldn't you want to be perfect? Everyone dreams about being exactly the way you are, why are you complaining!?

My answer: Why would I wanna be like this!? I'm not a pair of jeans!

I've grown up in a Christian home, my mom, my dad, and me. And every since they told me I was a designer baby, ohh, about three days ago, my main argument against all of this: You took away God's privilege. You designed me when it was supposed to be His job.

Whenever I said this, my parents shot back that if God didn't want people designing their kids, He wouldn't have let scientists get that far in technology.

This might be true. But I still feel like playing God and designing your kid is a little wrong.

And waiting until they are fifteen years old to tell them, umm, a little messed up.

Do I agree with my parents decisions? Not really.

Have I accepted it as much as I ever will? I guess.