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