Selfish Bitch

Don't get me wrong. I love kids. Or let me rephrase that. I used to love kids. Before I had them. Yes, babies are cute and kids are cute. But.

Please. Let's call a spade a spade. Having kids can be torture.

Here's a quiz for you to see if you are ready to have a kid:

Do you enjoy:

1. Having sex on a regular basis?
2. Going out for a nice meal more than once a year?
3. Drinking a few glasses of wine every night?
4. Sleeping eight hours?
5. Being woken up by murderous screams at 6 am?
6. Having no life for at least six years (at which age kids enter full time school)?
7. Talking to other mothers about stuff like potty training, how their vaginas are saggy since they gave birth and how their tits now droop?

If you ticked 5, 6 or 7 you are ready to have a kid. If you ticked 1-4 you are not ready to have a kid. Here's a couple of things to consider before you try to get pregnant:

1. Talking to kids is like talking to a retarded person, or at best, an amnesiac. And, for the record, conversations like this can go on for hours:

Scarlett: "Why is that person sleeping at the side of the street?"
Me: "Because he's homeless."
Scarlett: "What does homeless mean?"
Me: "That he doesn't have a home."
Scarlett: "But why doesn't he have a home?"
Me: "Because he's poor."
Scarlett: "Why is he poor?"
Etc. etc. etc. etc.


2. To all you childless people out there, you know how you are in a fucking bad mood in the morning? You know how you are a homicidal maniac until you've had three cups of coffee/a fag/a joint/a wank, and have been left alone to stare out the window for at least an hour? You know how you are in a bad mood until you get to the office and are forced to be nice? Well, I'm a self-confessed coffee addict, and why don't you try waking up in a bad mood and not being able to say to the kids "What the fuck? Don't talk to me about Barbie dolls in a high pitched scream until I've had my coffee." You see what it's like to have to make sandwiches and cut up bits of melon for packed lunches when what you really want to do it put the knife through your hand? And this is often before you've had your coffee.

Anyway, you're probably wondering what set me off on this train of thought. Well, it was firstly that the kids had Friday off for some Teacher Training Day, and three days running with the sprogs makes me see red. Add to that, an incident that happened this morning. My 4 year old daughter Sausage has the propensity to get up at six and make a huge racket, waking my other daughter etc etc. Now, I like to sleep in until at least seven, call me a selfish bitch. So it was something of a relief when Sausage started getting up on her own, going downstairs, putting cereal into a bowl, pouring milk on top and taking it to the basement where she would put in a DVD and be quiet for at least half an hour. Imagine, I didn't even have to train her to do this! Imagine my dismay then, this morning, to come downstairs to find that a gallon of milk had been poured into a teapot, into a cup, into a glass, mixed with sugar and spilt all over the floor. Naturally I couldn't be angry, but I realized the 'do your own breakfast' plan was seriously flawed because, for God's sake, she could have spilt the sugary milk onto my keyboard! It doesn't bear thinking about.

Before anyone thinks me crazy, my husband actually called me an above average parent the other day and he wasn't drunk. My friend B. (above, I am on the right), however, beats me hands down as the gold standard for Glamorous Bitch Mums everywhere. She wore wax earplugs in her ears at all times until her son was three ("I can't stand the frigging screaming!"). Also, B. hates primary colours and always had her son's toys squirreled away in paisley or brown covered boxes so as not to spoil the decor.

Anyway, don't think I'm complaining, things could be worse. Like, I might have to work for a living. And eventually Sausage will be trained up to bring me a fried breakfast in bed. Until then, I'm counting the days.