Babies are awesome. They’re miniature little people who grow up to break hearts and steal boyfriends. With their tiny hands and how-are-they-so-soft cheeks, most babies send any and all females in their vicinity into a frenzy of “awwwws” “can I hold hers” and general ovary explosions. And then. Well. There are the rest of us. The few people with hearts so cold, faces so bitchy, and gag reflexes so fine-tuned that babies do literally nothing to our insides. Instead of scrambling to pick a toddler up, we’re running the other way, popping a BC pill and counting the days since we had our periods.
It’s not that I don’t understand the obsession with babies. It’s just that, well, I hate them. And while I get that they look so cute in tiny jeans and little shoes, there are a whole bunch of downsides to having, knowing, or even being around one of these pruney vagina bullets.
- They’re horrible at small talk.
It’s like having a conversion with a drunk version of myself.
- And everyone thinks everything they say is just *genius.*
I can babble like that too. Just listen to me after too much vodka and ten minutes spent stalking my ex.
- They smell.
Even I have better hygiene.
- And hello? They’re sticky AF.
Can they just come with some hand sanitizer or something?
- If you think I’m high-maintenance, try dating a baby (I mean that figuratively. I don’t mean literally go date a baby because that’s illegal in most places besides like, Alabama).
The mood changes. The crying. The constant hunger and need for attention. Chill out, babies.
- Because yes, they hog literally all of the attention.
Yeah. Cute kid. Now can we go back to talking about me please?
- And they never want you to have fun.
Oh, you can’t drink, can’t go out, can’t use your vagina? Cool. Sounds fun.
- They make your vagina uglier than it already is.
The horror stories about rips are enough to make me swear off sex forever.
- And let’s not talk about your tits.
So long, perky friends. ‘Twas fun while it lasted.
- They’re assholes.
Yes, please keep screaming all night. I’m not fond of sleep or anything.
- And if they’re not already assholes, they’ll grow up to be assholes.
Have you met my ex? Pretty sure he was a baby once.
- You won’t necessarily get a cute one.
I know you think you’ll have a looker, but some of them have gross faces. Or weird heads. Or are ginger.
- And if it’s an ugly one, no one will admit it to you.
“Oh it’s so…interesting looking!”
- Plus, they might grow up to be ugly.
You know all of the ugly people in the world? They used to be babies.
- Or have actual problems.
Can’t I just have one that’s like, really pretty, and nice, and funny, and smart, and successful? Please?
- If you don’t like it, you still have to keep it.
There’s no returning it to Amazon because it wasn’t what you thought you ordered.
- They can’t do any of the things I like to do.
Oh, you can’t drink? Or go on rides at amusement parks? Or judge people? So like…what? We just look at each other?
- And they can just smell the fear on you.
“Oh no I don’t need to hold your baby…oh, okay. Fine I will anyway.” *Baby immediately starts crying.*
- Everybody hates you at restaurants.
Good luck trying to get that extra bread basket with a baby back bitch next to you.
- And they’re just like an instant guy repellent.
It doesn’t matter if it’s not yours. If you’re near it, guys will stay far, far away from you.
- Stretch marks.
Yeah, let’s add some more angry red lines to all of the ones that already exist on my body, thx.
- They’re expensive.
I don’t even have enough money for my life, let alone the life of an Instagram-worthy baby.
- And they’re pretty scary.
It’s a tiny human. How am I expected to keep a tiny human alive when I keep killing my Bonsai trees?
- They become your whole life.
And not just until they’re 18. Until forever.
- I seriously have no idea how to properly hold one.
Wait so I support the neck? What do I do with my arm? Do I look dumb? Am I hurting it? Can someone just put me out of my misery?
- They pee everywhere.
The one time I drunkenly wet the bed it was the end of the world. THE ONE TIME.
- And they shit their pants. All. Of. The. Time.
And worse than that, *you* have to clean it up.
- You can’t just toss them in a kennel and leave for the afternoon like you do with your dog.
So what? I have to like, bring it with me?
- Everyone knows you have one.
Seriously, you can’t pull a fast one and just be like, “oh this infant? Nah never met her.”
- Having a baby means that you’re a mom.
Which also means you’re not just some drunk college girl looking to hook up with her ex’s friend at the bar.
- If you’re not a ~trendy~ mom what even is the point?
If my baby doesn’t get at least 200 likes per picture we’re going to have a problem.
- They brainwash everyone.
No matter how much I hate babies, I know that the second I get pregnant I’ll turn into yet another baby-loving, onsie buying, making my kid my profile picture, monster.
Here’s to popping two birth control pills tonight..
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