I’m getting to the age (just ask those fucking freshmen) that as a normal adult female, I should apparently be feeling an empty spot in my heart where crotchlings should be. I should be longing for baby booties and misty-eyed when I pass by playgrounds.
This hasn’t yet happened for me. In fact, I celebrate each month that passes by in which Adrian does not knock me up and ruin our lives. Confetti and mariachi music come flying out of my crotch, reminding me of how awesome it is to be kidless.
I don’t hate people who do have kids. I think it’s wonderful that they do, because we need to have new children in the world.
However, I am absolutely unprepared to have a child. I think, based on the reasons below, it’s actually a Class-D Felony for me to reproduce in 13 states.
- I really enjoy sitting naked on my couch on Tuesdays, drunk, eating E.L.Fudge by the box-ful and watching Law and Order. The naked part is my way of being an involved viewer.
- The words, “perineum,” “vaginaplasty,” “discharge,” and “tearing,” horrify me in ways that I never thought possible.
- My cats must remind me to feed them, because I am absolutely incapable of doing so of my own volition.
- It makes me uncomfortable when people tell about their life experiences (prom, schooling, learning to drive) as war stories, because then it terrifies everyone else who should ever hear that story. I’ve not ever heard a parent speak in a different tone about their children.
- I don’t understand what goes into “baby-proofing,” a home, but assume that it might have something to do with bleach, a brillo pad, and a turkey baster.
- My crotch becomes physically painful when I look at the website Shit My Kids Ruined. I really like all my nice shit.
- If my child were to shout the phrase, “HELP I NEED AN ADULT,” I don’t know what my course of action should be. I was only ever taught to shout that and wait on assistance.
- When my nieces tell me they have to potty, I am unclear what role they are asking me to play. Am I a spotter?
- I have conversations with my cats. I’m not proud of it, but it happens.
- Living with children seems a lot like living with a really poorly trained dog. I was recently informed that most parents do not, in fact, throw away items of clothing that have come into contact with poop. I could not live like that. My cats even shit where they are told.
- I think people who say that, “life isn’t worth living if you don’t have children,” are just as much evangelists as crazy religious people, which makes parenthood a cult by association. And I frown on cults like I frown on typical cult hairstyles.
- It’s generally looked-down-upon to teach children the following words: balls, twat, poonsocket, rocketpocket, and the phrase, “Fuck your mother,” in 5 languages.
- I take school crossing zones as a speed challenge.
- I frequently take up hobbies, abuse them for 4 weeks, and then forget about them. I’ve been told that you can’t take the same approach to child-rearing. Illegal, some say.
- Children are the most judgmental bastards on the planet, and I don’t need someone else telling me I’m a disappointment.
- I believe North Korea created Chuck E. Cheese as a form of total-warfare birth control.
Excuse me, I have to go punch myself in the vagina for 3 hours.
If you have kids, when/why did you think you were ready? What were you not prepared for? If you don’t have kids, do you think you ever will be? Why?
—Favorite Comment from The Last Post: From Heather Heartless: “Being the mental health case that I am, I went for my yearly assessment yesterday and got the guy to quote me saying “twatwaffle” in it. Check that goal off the list.”