I was having a conversation with a friend yesterday about children. He has none, which is by choice, and I get it. Parenting is fucking HARD, yo. I remember saying once upon a time that I was never going to have them, and even after the first one, I swore I wouldn’t do it again…. and yet, 5 1/2 years later. But THIS time, we really are done. And I’m glad. Because I don’t think I could handle one more asshole running around this house.
I know, I talk a lot about how much parenting is hard, and in the same breath say that I wouldn’t change a thing. And honestly, I wouldn’t. And people who don’t have kids sometimes don’t understand that, and even people who do don’t get it. Well, I think they do, but I think they’re kidding themselves. Real talk? All kids are assholes. Shoot, all PEOPLE are assholes at times. We ALL have our stuff that makes us an asshole to someone else. It’s just who we are as a human race, we are by NO MEANS perfect, and those who pretend they (or their children) are? Well, to me, that’s a REAL asshole.
Kids push buttons, they toe the line, they cross over, they talk back, they make messes, they refuse to eat/sleep/poop/speak. They say the wrong things at the wrong times, they hang around your neck when all you want is a little space. It’s their job. From the time you get pregnant, those little stinkers are sucking every little bit of you (no, really, look it up, it’s science), and they continue to do so their entire life span (or yours, whichever comes first). Whether it’s physical or emotional, they are sucking every last bit of you, and it’s exhausting. And awesome. And crazy weird. And hard. And there’s stages of suckage.
Stage one: Pregnancy…. they’re LITERALLY sucking everything from you. Blood, nutrients, fluids, etc. You’re a space for them to grow. I saw this cartoon once of a baby in the womb ordering hot wings at 4 am. True story. And they don’t care about the throwing up either.
Stage two: Newborn…. they’re little, they’re helpless, they cannot do ANYTHING on their own. They are completely dependent on you and no, you cannot just lay a bowl of food and water down and leave them there. They actually NEED to be held, and sung to, and kissed, and loved, and reassured that this big wide world isn’t going to hurt them. Ever. And they don’t care that you’ve only had an hour of sleep, and your house is a mess, and you’re all alone, and oh, shit… it’s 5 pm and Daddy will be home soon and there is LITERALLY nothing for dinner.
Stage three: Toddler… OMG. I would rather call this “Monkey Stage.” There’s the climbing, and the teething, and the running, and the grabbing, and the wrecking, and the EATING OF ALL THE STUFFS IN THE HOUSE INCLUDING THE CAT POOP…. and there’s the spilling, and the throwing, and the ripping. And then there’s the potty training, and the learning to talk. And OMG MAKE IT STOP. You cannot leave these kids alone for a second without SOMETHING being out of place, or broken, or worse… without them hurting themselves, their siblings, or their pets. You cannot take them anywhere. Ever. You’re always trying to find new spots for things that they’re not supposed to get in to. And then they grow overnight. And sometimes? They still don’t sleep. MAKE IT STOP.
Stage four: Big Kid… I kinda like this stage. There’s less physical need, and more emotional. Although, the emotional needs can sometimes be more exhausting than the physical. So many new life experiences at this stage…. friends, school, sports, independence. It’s fun, but fucking scary, and sometimes a little overwhelming. So the tantrums (though fewer and fewer) can sometimes be explosive, and scary. And that’s super draining.
I don’t really know what comes after this stage…. probably Pre Teen… which I refuse to acknowledge that stage at all because…. OMG NO. Hormones, and puberty, and *GASP* girls (or boys). And then there’s teenagedom, and semi adulthood and then….
Then they’re on their own. And ALL of this doesn’t matter anymore. Well, not to you. Because they’re going to have to deal with it with their kids (or not, having kids is a choice after all). And I’m going to sit mine down and let them read this post. Because while I may someday get to the point of FORGETTING how big of assholes my kids can be sometimes…. the fact still remains that they are. And their not the only ones. And yet….
I fucking love them anyway.