This is me. It’s two hours past getting out of bed and I’m just now getting my first cup of coffee. My children, little blessings they are, have hounded me about ice cream cake for breakfast in between acting like that chimp in the cage at the beginning of 28 Days Later. In exchange for assurances of my safety, I have acquiesced.
I also turned on cartoons.
I’m not going to write one of those bullshit blog posts about how kids are hard but so worth it, because they fucking aren’t. The existence of a human being isn’t quantifiable for trade into goods or services. My kids are human beings, not trade goods, they aren’t worth a damned thing. Cherishing my kids, being utterly enamored with them regardless of the circumstances of my day; that’s called love, and that can’t be bought either.
When we turn out children into things we devalue them and I fucking promise, they will spend the rest of their lives trying to figure out how much they’re worth, which is the god damned problem. People cannot be bought and sold. We have no value because value is by definition a quality which is bestowed upon us by others.
Some mornings I cling desperately to my Zoloft prescription and pray for the moment where my fight/flight response softens around the edges and I can finally go cook breakfast while the maelstrom of human energy circles around me. Obviously, I still love my kids. But loving them is never, ever, going to make me think anything about this chaos is worth treasuring. It isn’t. I hate it. Hate it.
NO ONE likes being exhausted after eight hours of sleep with tiny feet in their back, drinking a three day old cup of reheated coffee, wondering when it was exactly that they brushed their hair or teeth last. If you know somebody who says they do, they’re fucking mental. Look for a bloody shovel in their basement. On second thought, don’t. Just call the fucking police.
I have no tolerance for whitewashing parenting. Parenting sucks. The little bastards take away your time, your money, your waistline, your hair, your looks, your sanity. Everything in your life is impacted by children; shit you never knew was important to you, like shitting with the fucking door closed, is now not only important but denied to you. This. Sucks. It sucks. Just shut up. It sucks.
Anybody who says it doesn’t suck is trying to sell you some essential oils, or worse, Tupperware. And you should tell those sweater-on-the-shoulder-wearing bitches they can stick their easy-peasy microwaveable salad bowl, or whatever melted dead dinosaur space waster it is, right up their perfectly bleached assholes.
What parenting is is awesome, in the actual sense of the word. You’ve made people with your bodily fluids and then they grow up into beings who are entirely independent from yourself. That’s awesome. So, so awesome.
So stop fucking it up by telling the world how great shit under your fingernails is and how hiding in your closet for five minutes praying nobody comes along as to ask you, “why?” is a magical fucking fairy land of happiness, you lying cunts.