It just stands to reason that after all the years of preaching I did to everyone around me about how I was never having children, I was the first of my friends to have one ―much to their horror, which I was highly offended by. I mean really, any idiot can raise a child. Case in point: my mother. She was absent the day they handed out parenting handbooks and instead turned to the age old, brilliant wisdom of Doctor Phil and fortune cookies to educate me, and I turned out just fine. Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best example. I’m not a serial killer, so at least I have that going for me. More on my mother later.
I suppose saying I hate children is a little harsh, considering I’m a mother now, right? And it’s not like I hate my kid. I just strongly dislike other people’s dirty faced, snotty nosed, sticky handed, screaming, puking, shitting, no-sleeping, whining, arguing, crying little humans. Give me a cat over a kid any day. You can open up a bag of Meow Mix, plop it down on the floor next to a bucket of water, go on vacation for a week, and come home to an animal that is so busy licking it’s own ass that it has no idea you were even gone. You can’t do that with a kid. Well, I guess you could, but I’m sure it’s frowned upon in most circles. And if my kid could lick his own ass, I’d have saved a shit load of money on diapers, I can tell you that.
To say I was a little worried about becoming a mother given my aversion to childbirth and children in general is an understatement. They say that when you have your own child, the first time you look into his or her eyes you will fall instantly in love and the rest of the world disappears. They say you’ll believe your child can do no wrong, and you will love them unconditionally right from the very first moment. Well, whoever “they” are should seriously limit the amount of crack they smoke and stop talking out of their ass while their Arby’s vaginas are flopping around in their grandma panties.
The day I had my son I looked down at him and said, “Who the hell are you? You look nothing like me.”
Sometimes it isn’t love at first sight. “What to Expect When You Weren’t Expecting to Get Knocked Up That One Time at a Frat Party” and the rest of the all-knowing baby books like to leave that part out. Sometimes you have to learn to love the little monsters for something other than the tax deductions they provide you. Not all babies are cute when they’re born no matter how many new parents try to convince you otherwise. This is yet another lie the half-baked “theys” lead you to believe. Some babies are born looking like old men with wrinkled faces, age spots, and a receding hairline.
When I was born my father George took my hospital picture over to his friend Tim’s house while my mom was still recuperating in the hospital. Tim took one look at my picture and said, “Oh sweet Jesus, George. You better hope she’s smart.” It was no different with my son, Gavin. He was funny looking. I was his mother, so I could say that. He had a huge head, no hair, and his ears stuck out so far I often wondered if they worked like the “Whisper 2000”, and he was able to pick up conversations from people a block away. During my four day hospital stay, all I kept doing whenever I looked at his huge head was speak in a Scottish accent and quote Mike Meyers from "So I Married an Ax Murderer".
"He cries himself to sleep at night on his huge pilluh."
"That thing’s like Spootnik. It's got its own weather system."
"It's like an orange on a toothpick."
I think he heard me talking about him to the nurses and formulated a plan to get back at me. I firmly believe at night in the nursery he and all the other newborns struck up a conversation and decided it was time for a revolution. Viva la newborns!