20 Reasons I’m Never Having Kids
For the fifty people who have told me I will change my mind when I’m older, maybe this over-dramatization of my opinions will convince you:
- I’m 24 and I recently cried hysterically while writhing in pain on the floor over a charley horse in my leg. Obscene amounts of drugs to ease the delivery process will not cure my lack of tolerance for pain.
- Why would I willingly put on 40 pounds? I’m broke as hell and unless I can afford Jillian Michaels to kick my fat ass in gear, I’m doomed to be a blimp forever once I pop that thing out.
- I have to sleep on my stomach. I just have to. Is that healthy for babies growing in our tummies? NO. But it might be a good way to get rid of one if I accidentally get pregnant. Just kidding!
- Speaking of things growing in our tummies… EW.
- I refuse to marry someone with a conflicting parenting style. There will be no compromise. I’m always right. Since this is completely unrealistic and selfish, which maybe I am, kids don’t fit into the equation.
- I’m never getting married, and single parenting could not sound less appealing. Why am I not getting married? If you don’t want to read my novel on that, you’ll have to wait for “20 Reasons I’m Not Getting Married.” But don’t hold your breath because I’m busy doing things that 24-year-olds without kids are doing.
- Second graders are disgusting. I was an aid for a second grade teacher. While I did enjoy spending time with the kids, they’re downright dirty and I never want an 8-year-old. What happens to parents when their kids reach that age? HELLO! Scrub that kid’s fingernails, teach them how to use Q-tips, and force them to shower and brush their teeth if you have to hold their head under the water till they’re about to choke on it. They eat boogers and pick at scabs and have no shame in sticking a hand down their pants to scratch. Of course they’re not disinfecting after any of these acts either. Why should they? Their parents don’t make them.
- If my child turned out to be anything remotely close to the kind of child I was… I would probably kill myself.
- Milk is disgusting. PERIOD. I hate drinking it, smelling it, touching it. The word “lactate” makes me sick to my stomach. I don’t want milk coming out of my boobs or someone chewing on them. Who came up with that genius idea anyway? Screw natural. Sure, we all want bigger boobs. Maybe some women see this as an upside to pregnancy and breast feeding. Well, I see not having children as extra money for implants that won’t leak all over me.
- Who in their right mind wants to go 9 months without alcohol?
- I’ll be damned if I want anyone looking at me during childbirth. I don’t care how many vaginas these people have seen, it’s embarrassing. I’m spread eagle, sweating profusely, huffing and puffing and screaming profanities because I’m a little bitch and can’t handle the pain. There’s nothing glamorous about pushing an 8 pound mini human out of your vag. And what about women who let their husbands in the room to watch (and how about the ones with the camcorders!!! Are you crazy?) What man would ever want to look at or touch that thing again after seeing that slime-covered alien crawl out of there? And don’t even get me started on that amniotic sac!
- Not to mention I’ve heard that you just shit all over the place from pushing that hard anyway.
- I’m mean. My child would be rebellious and unruly because it would hate me. I have no patience and a short temper. Woohoo! Corporal punishment and 4-hour time-outs!
- If you want your kid to be successful, social, accepted by peers, and well-rounded, do you know how much shit you have to sign them up for? Who wants to spend that kind of money on someone other than themselves? No thanks.
- You can’t pick. If I decided to have a child, I would want to choose whether it was a boy or a girl. Also, there’s always that risk of multiples. Yikes!
- I have plenty of friends who will have kids. Heck, I’d even accept being a Godmother at some point. I’m not a kid hater completely… but if I want to spend time with one there’s no reason I can’t just borrow.
- I have an out of control, 17 year-old-brother. Because it’s immoral to just give your child away before it gets to that stage, there’s no way it’s happening. I don’t wish to spend the remainder of my years in a mental institution because my delinquent child pushed me over the edge.
- If I don’t have kids, who will care for me when I’m old and decrepit? After I slap myself for that ridiculous thought, I will find that the answer is simple. Forget the college fund you’d have to start and open yourself a ‘savings for when my life sucks’ account instead. By the time you get there, you will have enough to pay your way into a nursing home… or assisted living if you’re classier, super independent like me, and high rollin’ at 80.
- I want a clean house. Kids destroy everything nice and usually stare right at you while they do it with that face that says, “Try and catch me. I’m faster than you because you gained 40 pounds after birthing me. Plus, I exhaust you so badly that you can’t take more than 5 steps before you hyperventilate and collapse on your overweight ass. AND I’m taking the stairs! Ha!” Son of a bitch.
- I want to have a life. What if I want to take a weekend excursion to Vegas with my only intelligent friend, who, like me, decided to forgo the ‘I want children’ phase of her life? No one is going to volunteer to care for my kid because, being a spawn of myself, it will be a beast. Plus, it will already be hard enough to get someone to watch my 6 cats, each of which will be acquired for every time I start to think, “maybe I should have kids….”
For all the wonderful and proud mommas out there who were born to do this job… THANK YOU.
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