I don’t give a shit about your fancy baby
Sweet mother of squirt, let’s all stop what we’re doing and acknowledge the fact that Kate Middleton and that one guy had a baby.
Yes, it’s true. They bumped their uglies, did the horizontal genital grind, dingled their dangles as one, and *oops* forgot to pull out, thus producing a boy-child that has the entire Yooniverse weeping for joy and talking about it a lot on the internet.
There isn’t an ounce of my being that gives a shit about their new found bundle of celebrity-gossip fodder. I understand this makes me some sort of asshole, but I’m okay with that. Just like I’m okay with anyone that genuinely cares about the things that come out of famous people’s uteruses because TO EACH THEIR OWN. I’m all about accepting each other’s differences and shit.
That’s not to say I don’t like babies. Quite the contrary, I fucking love babies. They’re usually cute, squishy and made out of sugar and WAY easier to deal with than non-baby children. Their sounds are cuter, too, as most children use words and have thoughts and opinions, one being that their parents are nothing but babbling, maniacal morons who cook, clean, and earn a living for them. That is not the case for babies though, oh no. To a baby you are a MAGICAL GOD who can do no wrong and I like that very much. BABIES DO NOT QUESTION ME AND THEY ALSO HAVE FAITH IN ME. Not to mention babies are super easy to take care of an maneuver through life with, unlike non-baby children. Example:
It’s easier to go to the store with a baby than it is a child.
All you need to bring with you is a well-stocked diaper bag and the handy car seat/carrier. Oh, you also need to bring the baby. While you are at the store, the baby rarely complains or asks you to buy unnecessary things utilizing repetition of said request to break down your ability to reason and will to live until you, eventually, cave in to their demands. Babies just sit there and looks at things. Sometimes, the baby will cry, but that is often easily resolved (see below). Sure, there are rare occurrences where the baby’s bowels explode without warning in an unholy fury of awfulness, saturating every square inch of their clothes, carrier, and possibly the person next to you in the aisle. This often results stinky mess and mild to moderate embarrassment, but you can solve this easily by leaving abruptly with your soiled baby and pretending it never happened. This would not be so easy if you were with a non-baby child instead. Have you ever needed to make a quick escape from a store with a non-baby child? Their short legs and no concept of haste make it IMPOSSIBLE. Also, they’ll likely stop at least three times on the way out the door to ask for cereal and some other shit.
It’s easier to troubleshoot problems with a baby.
Babies are easy. Period.
They have this amazing built in sound system that notifies you when they’re is a problem called CRYING. When things are going wrong, there is usually a quick fix for the problem, such as:
1. giving them a bottle
2. giving them a bath
3. changing their diaper
4. changing their surroundings
5. a nap
6. ibuprofen and a chew toy (if they’re teething)
7. picking them up and swaying from side to side
(for more tips or general knowledge, please refer to this informative link on how to take care of babies) (no seriously, go look at it because it’s awesome).
If you’ve done all of these things and the sound system is still activated, then you proceed to a doctor to rule out an ear infection or something potentially catastrophic. If the doctor says your baby is fine and they are still making loud noises, then could be an indication that you’re baby is just being an asshole, or has possibly morphed into a non-baby child.
The very same sound system also notifies you when things are going swimmingly and you’re doing a good job via cooing and giggling which makes you all warm and fuzzy and boosts your sense of self-worth as a parent.
Not so much for the non-baby child though. As they age, their built in sound system begins to degrade and malfunction. They cry when everything is perfectly fine and are silent when something is wrong. Coos are replaced with complaining despite all of their needs being met, which, I might add, become more complex as they get bigger. When they ask for something, rather than using a normal tone, they insist that raising their voice a few octaves and causing variances in pitch (otherwise known as ‘whining’) is the optimal way to get grown-ups to understand and respond to their request. THIS SHIT DOES NOT WORK ON ME, however, and I’ve explained to them over and over that talking in such a tone will not get me to cave in to their desires, yet they seem to interpret that as, “I should keep talking to mom in this tone in order to ensure that I get a cookie before dinner”. I WOULD TAKE CRYING OVER WHINING ANY FUCKING DAY.
Babies are very easy to keep entertained.
There is a phrase that children are often heard saying that gets under my skin like an angry case of scabies, and that’s “I’M BORED”. I want to know how in the hell it is possible to be so bored all the time when they have these amazing, vibrant, technicolored imaginations that opens up so many doors for fun and creative expression? How is it they’re bored when they have a closet full of toys that I spent a fuck-ton of cabbage on for their birthday or Christmas that they can use in conjunction with said imaginations? I’d like to remind all the children that THIS SHIT GOES AWAY AS YOU BECOME AN ADULT. It becomes socially unacceptable when you’re a grown up to talk to your stuffed dog that’s really a rainbow peeing cyborg-unicorn super hero that bakes the best imaginary friendship cupcakes you’ll ever have in your fucking life. I can’t spin around in circles at the park and pretend that I’m a helicopter that’s spiraling out of control and is going to crash. ENJOY THAT SHIT WHILE YOU CAN, I often say to my children, yet they still insist of complaining about how terrible their life is due to the severe lack of things to entertain them. I had hope that they will one day grasp the fact that all whining at me about this only leads me to find things for them to do, and these things are NEVER fun, but so far to no avail.
You rarely hear babies complain about being bored. Sure, once in a while they need a change in scenery which is easily fixed with a walk around the block, but over all, BABIES ARE AMUSED BY EVERYTHING. Have you ever watched a baby discover their foot? It doesn’t matter how many times they’ve seen it before, thanks to a short memory span, that foot will be the best damn thing they’ve ever seen and tasted in their entire little life. Shit, I remember when my oldest used to sit for hours in her light-up bouncy chair and stare at wide-eyed amazement as she would open and close her hand in front of her face. HOURS. I would eventually have to intervene to engage her in other things, but she would always go back to the awe and wonder of her little hands, and I rarely heard her complain about a lack of things to keep her interest. Obviously, if she were to do that now, I’d have to worry about possible LSD use, but I’m just saying I miss those simpler times. Or maybe, deep down, I miss babies and I’m sad that my ovaries are slowly turning into the Sahara and my baby days are over, unless I want to borrow someone else’s for a day.
What the fuck was I talking about? Oh yeah. The Super Fancy Royal Baby and what not. Shit. I totally went off on a tangent that had very little to do with what the fuck I was talking about in the first place. So yeah, congrats and such to Kate Middleton and I’m so sorry to hear about her vagina, but I unfortunately cannot join the masses in their over pouring of joy for her royal crotch-fruit. I may love me some babies but the celebrity ones are only pretend babies and don’t count.