Gut Rumbles
 

July 11, 2008

Raising children

Originally published October 28, 2004

Human beings are gluttons for punishment. Due to some insane, primordial instinct, we INSIST on having children.

A woman spends nine months being pregnant and experiencing hormonal upheavals and the man spends nine months living with that crap. It's a bitch of an experience.

Then, when the precious little bundle of joy is born, it can't do a damn thing for itself. It shits its diaper, pisses all over itself, cries long and loud in the middle of the night and can't tell you what's the matter. YOU have to feed it, YOU have to clean it and YOU have to figure out what's wrong and FIX IT when the banshee howls start at 2:30 in the morning.

You teach the little fuckers to walk and then spend the next ten years yelling, "Sit DOWN! Hold STILL. Come BACK here!" You teach the little fuckers to talk, and you can't shut them up--- EVER again.

Little girls like to scream in a high-pitched voice that will shatter glass. Little boys like to do stupid things and get hurt. If you have a woman-child, buy a set of earplugs to soften those screams. If you have a boy-child, get a good first-aid kit and the phone number for the emergency room of the nearest hospital.

Later, they turn into teenagers and hate your guts for a few years. That's REALLY fun, especially after all the work you've put into raising them. Ungrateful shits.

Still... I wouldn't trade either one of my children for the world. That's flesh of MY flesh and blood of MY blood. That's my one tenuous hold on immortality. My children. I'd go back and do it again tomorrow, even KNOWING what I was getting into.

You'll never feel such overpowering love as when you smell the first breath that your child takes in this world.

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