I held the most adorable little baby yesterday. He was so
tiny, he smelled so good, his eyes, and dear lord all that hair. I’m not
exaggerating when I say that I sat there for almost an hour just cuddling this
little ball of adorableness and petting his skin, and sniffing his hair. I was
reminded of when my little A-holes were that little, and I could just sit there
and hold them and love on them all day long. It made me sad that I don’t have
anyone that little to love anymore, and for a moment a small fleeting moment I
thought “Hey, I could do this baby thing again.” Then the little effer shit
himself and started screaming like a banshee. One whiff of his ass… DONE. I practically spiraled that thing at its
mother. What the fuck was I thinking? Why
did I even pick up that little shit sack in the first place? I don’t even like
other peoples’ spawns (I know it’s not PC to say that, but for the most part it’s
true.) It must be the meds that make my uterus less angry. A less angry uterus
obviously makes you think stupid shit like “Oh look at that little baby. I want
another baby.” Well, dear uterus, there will be absolutely no more little
fuckers growing in there and here’s why:
·
Sleep is a beauteous thing. Even more beauteous
is a full nights, 8 count ‘em eight consecutive hours of shut eye. Babies are
little, and dumb and think that only 2 hours or so is enough time to rest. Then
they wake up and want food, and attention, and never go back to sleep again. EVER.
·
They shit in their pants. Yes I know, I have
done it too but at least I can wipe my own ass and clean that shit up. Babies
can’t wipe their own asses. Hell I’m sure they don’t even know where their ass
is.
·
Formula smells disgusting. It smells even more
disgusting when it has been regurgitated back onto your black tshirt. Same with
carrots, and peas, and that shit they put in a jar claiming it’s meat.
·
Speaking of formula… That shit is expensive and
the little shit wad is just going to throw it up anyway.
·
The sound of their cry is enough to make a
Serial Killer kill himself. It is the most ear piercing deafening sound. My stomach
is knotting up just thinking about it. I can’t talk about the crying anymore. I
am having PTSD falshbacks.
·
Babies are not cute when they cry. Their face
turns various shades of reds, blues, and purples. Their skin wrinkles all up,
and you can see the veins in their melons. There is snot pouring from their
noses, and they choke on their excess saliva because swallowing is a foreign concept.
·
They go through more outfits in an hour than all
5 New Kids do in a concert. That’s a lot of fucking laundry that mom has to
wash.
·
Then there is the baby that never wants to be
put down, and you have no choice but to hold it all fucking day because if you
put it down for even a second it is going to scream like you are cutting its
toes off and the nosey fucking neighbor is going to call the cops on you.
·
The one bright side to the above mentioned
scenario is you learn real quick how to manage if you ever had to have one of
your arms amputated.
·
Showering is going to become a thing of the past.
Get used to baby wipes and Gold Bond to feel clean. You may think that baby is
asleep but as soon as it hears the shower turn on it’s all over.
·
You’re sick??? Too bad. The baby is hungry and
just shit itself, you don’t get to be sick. Suck it up Sally.
·
Forget shitting in peace until your maternity
leave is over. In fact forget going to the bathroom alone in your own house for
the next 5-10 years. Every need a child has becomes an instant immediate need
the second you pop a squat on the john.
Nope uterus, you are going to remain empty from here until
eternity. Our baby days are dunzo. I did my time, and somehow survived it. Now
I have semi less disgusting creatures. They learned to feed themselves, shit in
the toilet, wipe their own asses (this one may be questionable), use their
words instead of screaming and crying, (again questionable). They go to school for
most of the day and I can get some shit done nap alone, they will make
friends that are way cooler and more important than me, and if I am really
lucky their friend’s house will be the cool house to hang out at.
What you think you’re
getting……
What you really get
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