Leave the Kids at Home

Children terrify me. There. I said it. When I was a young girl, not quite old enough to have a real job, I rarely ventured into the lucrative world of baby-sitting like so many of my peers. I think I may have been born without that maternal instinct that you hear about. I was much happier being poor than dealing with shit from other people’s kids.

Sure, there are the moments that are few and far between when I see one of those rare smiling babies or toddlers that are flawless looking and on its best behavior (perhaps Mommy slipped a sedative into the formula?) when I coo and think “Hey, maybe I’d like to get me one of those.” Then I snap back to reality and notice the fifty other children that are screaming and crying and dirty that are terrorizing the general populous, and my ovaries and uterus retract and shrivel inside me a little bit.

What scares me most about having kids, moreso than the little hellions themselves, is what having kids does to the parents. When you have children, it seems that you completely lose sight of yourself. I’m sorry, but I’m a big fan of me. And I’m sure when I find some guy to spend the rest of my life with, I’m going to be a big fan of his. And I don’t want to have to sacrifice my needs and my relationship to cater to the needs of a child. It just doesn’t seem all that appealing. When I’m with a man I like to be number 1, and I’m not afraid to admit my narcissism that I don’t want to take a backseat to some snot nosed brat. I’m not ready for that yet.

My sister just got married to a man who’s the youngest of four. They’re in no rush to have kids of their own (thank God), but his siblings are all bogged down with several kids. And you would think that there’s nothing else significant going on in the world than the fact that their kid wiped a fucking booger on his sleeve. These people are obsessed with their children. It’s borderline psychotic. They have to be invited to every gathering, even when it’s really not appropriate for children to be present, and to even suggest that they get a sitter is unforgivable. You might as well just spit in their face than dare make such an unreasonable request. What? Leave the children at home? Never! Everyone WANTS to see MY kids, because MY kids are so god damn special! These are the same people who try and use logic and reasoning with their three year old.

Call me crazy, but I don’t reason with toddlers. Hell, I won’t even lower myself to debating young preteens and even high schoolers are a stretch. To me, you haven’t earned the right to your own opinions until you’ve lived a little, learned a lot, and your parents are no longer wiping your ass and laying out your clothes. Until you have to start taking care of yourself will I consider your feelings about what I’m telling you to eat/wear/say/do. I’ve waitressed for about four years now, and I am amazed by the parents that come in with children too young to even have a halfway decent grasp on the English language, and make me stand there for TEN minutes while they go back and forth with their drooling toddler asking what they WANT to eat and catering to their tantrums and screams. Guess what? If you’re my kid and we go out to eat, I’ll fucking tell you what you want. You don’t get the choice until you can actually read the menu. Giving young children endless choices is what causes them to grow up to be selfish assholes.

What’s worse is not only do these people let their children completely run their lives, they actually have the audacity to allow their children to impede on the lives of others. You want to give up your life for your kids, by all means, that’s your own personally chosen death sentence. But, don’t you dare interfere with my happiness and well being by inflicting the toxicity of your hell spawn upon me. When I go out in public, I don’t like to be disturbed. I don’t go out to a restaurant to listen to your little brat scream and throw tantrums. I go out to get away from the responsibility of cooking and cleaning for myself and pay someone else to do it for me. I actually saw a child whip food around and hit a man at the next table in the head with a piece of lettuce covered in Ranch dressing. Can you think of anything more disgusting? Probably, but if I had been that man, I would have gone right up to that table and demanded that the parents control their child or suggest that they leave immediately. It’s infuriating.

I’m not saying parents don’t ever need the break of going out, but hire a goddamn sitter. Leave the little brats at home. No one else wants to listen to their shit. And if you insist upon bringing your offspring with you, a rule of thumb that I think everyone should adhere to, is that the children should NEVER outnumber the adults. For example, a group came into the restaurant I work at with 5 children and 3 adults. The adults, rather than deal with the youths, sat on one end of the table and left the kids on the other end where they began tearing apart promos, dumping salt and pepper out on the table, throwing forks and engaging in sword fights with their knives. And these three bitches, who I believe were the two mothers and a grandmother, completely pretended to be completely oblivious the mess that their brats were making. What do they care? It’s just a restaurant, they don’t have to clean up the mess.

Not only are children these people’s worlds, but they actually feel gifted and privileged to be parents. Newsflash, getting knocked up doesn’t take any special skill. I can tell the guy I’m fucking to leave the condom off and chances are, I’ll end up pregnant like you. Perhaps if they instituted an examination and licensing requirement for parenting like I’ve been campaigning for, maybe then I will give you your kudos. Until that day, I’ll just laugh at your inability to wrap it up, and the embarkation on the end of your life as you once knew it.

Lastly, don’t get pissed when I don’t give a shit about your kid and your parenting woes. I don’t care that they’re an honor student, that they got the lead in a school play or that they finally stopped shitting their pants. Their mundane accomplishments really don’t hold any significant meaning in my life. Don’t expect to garner any sympathy from me when you lament about your sleepless nights because Junior was crying. That was your choice. Nobody forced you to have a baby. Me, on the other hand, I’m all set with sleepless nights caused by marathon bouts of sex. And you won’t hear me complaining about it either.