5 Ways Children Change Your Life… For The Worse

As you’re no doubt unaware, it’s gone completely unnoticed that I’d decided to take a few weeks off writing and updating this blog, mainly because I fucking hate every aspect of maintaining one and there are far more pressing concerns to attend to such as crashing my instructor’s car into random tractors during my driving lessons, and achieving my dream of quitting my job without another one lined up. Added to this is the fact that time as we know it is currently very much the same therefore it’s getting closer and closer to Laura squeezing a small baby out of her hoo-ha that I’m told I might well have to look after, and that one day, I fear, may grow to kill me.

So, as you can imagine, my intermittent life at present doesn’t leave much time for such things as writing shit for the internet. Thankfully, all is not lost as there is a human being who is very much on a par with me in regard to hating the world, everyone in it and society’s disappointing lack of enthusiasm to embrace the apocalypse in whatever form. His name is Jonjo and we became firm friends many years ago because of drugs. Which is how most true friendships start because who else wants to interact with another human being while sober? Fuck that.

Jonjo has very kindly agreed to write a guest post about parenting because, as a parent of at least one child that we’re aware of, he knows what’s what when it comes to navigating the terrifying waters of parenthood, the disturbing human beings that new parents encounter and the general gist of realising that all children are vicious little bastards.

My gracious thanks go to Jonjo, his facial hair and all those nights when we took our tops off and hugged.

CJP

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5 Ways Children Change Your Life… For The Worse

Words: Jonjo McNeill

Who told you you could eat my cookies?

Who told you you could eat my cookies?

One thing I noticed when reading this blog is that the author is expecting a child to claw its way out of his other half’s vagina in the near future. This is understandably distressing news for any human as it means certain lifestyle changes need to be implemented. For me it was going from smoking crack every evening after work to smoking crack every morning on the way to work. One must adapt. If I was expecting a child the last thing I’d want to do is read the millions of articles and books intended to prepare you for the most seismic change you’ll know in your life. They’re all the same – start off with a bit about how you’ve read the books, decorated the bedroom, blah blah blah, followed by some terrifying statistics and concluded with a sickly sweet monologue extolling the virtues of fatherhood/motherhood, all designed to project some sort of bullshit persona that doesn’t exist anywhere in the world.

If you’re up the duff, or dealing with a housemate who is, read this article, which is designed specifically to scare the living shit out of anybody with a soon-to-be-living mini-shit by telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the fucking truth.

Here are five ways children change your life…FOR THE WORSE.

 

5. People Insist On Coming To Your House

Don't answer the door...

Don’t answer the door…

The first thing on your mind when bringing your child home for the first time is how to fill the rooms, and time you savour, with as many people as possible. Day one might be okay – siblings, parents, your dealer – but after this it’s an unending procession of unwanted box-tickers going through the motions, repeating words like “eyes” and “nappies”. They all bring presents as well – but not good presents. They bring something they picked up on the way, like clothes for a 4 year old of the opposite sex. Or the same book three other people brought you BECAUSE THEY LOVED IT AS A CHILD. What you really want is some hard liquor, cigarettes or a hilarious baby-sized t-shirt from somethingvicious.com.

When not under siege from what some people call ‘friends and family’, you find yourself doorstepped by do-gooders from the authorities, who will come in your house, strip your child naked and force them to sit on a cold metal platform to check their weight. They call them ‘health visitors’ but really they’re undercover police bastards, there to determine who deserves to have a child and who should be thrown in the river with the other junkies.

It’s bad enough that the youngling is invading your privacy.

 

4. An Alien Comes Out Of A Woman (And Turns You Into A Cannibal)

Breakfast

Breakfast

I’m not talking about the baby, although yes. Rather I refer to the placenta – a big lump of body-matter that slops out of the torn genitalia moments after the child, growling and trying to attach itself to the nearest human face in order to doom mankind to a future ruled by acid-spitting space bastards. Nobody prepares you for the sight of that thing. Also, it stinks. Some lunatics actually eat this foreign body, claiming it is full of nutrients (much like a hilarious seasonal jumper from somethingvicious.com). The fact of the matter is, you’re eating human matter. You’re a cannibal.

 

3. Something The Size Of A Baby Takes Up An Entire House

Weapons. Always with the weapons.

Murderous little sods

Here are a list of just some of the things you are led to believe you need to raise a child in your home:
▪       A wooden prison cell
▪       A plastic bathtub to put inside your perfectly usable regular bathtub
▪       A machine that boils water and steams bottles
▪       A suction cup to remove breast milk
▪       A bottle to store removed breast milk
▪       A machine to clean the bottles and breast pumps
▪       Carton upon carton of powdered milk substitute for when the breasts and/or breast pump don’t do the trick
▪       All of the nappies
▪       A lock for your stash tin
▪       An attractive hoodie from somethingvicious.com
▪       High shelves to put everything that could be broken on (everything can be broken BTW. Get big shelves)
▪       A car seat
▪       A pushchair
▪       A smaller pushchair
▪       Child proof lighters
▪       Shitloads of something called ‘muslin’
▪       Arse cream
▪       Scented shit-bags
▪       Talcum powder
▪       A special set of drawers with a crap-proof mat on top
▪       Enough tiny clothes for circa nine changes a day

That’s what you’ll need for the first ten minutes. After that you’re on your own.

Fortunately, you can make space by selling your own bed, as you’ll be sleeping in a bus seat, in the office toilets or in your own back garden for the next six months.

 

2. You’re Suddenly Responsible For Another Person’s Finances

Little shits...

Some folk give your bairn money as a present. Don’t make the mistake I made and spend it on witty mugs from somethingvicious.com, as the giver will in all likelihood take offence. Apparently, any money given to new parents is to be placed in a trust fund to help the child out in the future. Now, call me a nit-picker, but surely the child must actually make it into the future for that money to be any use whatsoever? How can that child be expected to live up to 18 years if I can’t spend his child trust fund on lottery tickets, jazz mags and exotic European lagers? A happy dad is a happy child. Remember those words.

 

1. JUDGE, JUDGE, JUDGE, JUDGE.

Fuck. The. Fuck. Off.

Fuck. The. Fuck. Off.

The worst thing about having a child – worse than the constant smell of shit, worse than the average 12 minute sleep per night, worse than the hormones and the hunger and the exhaustion and the absolutely crippling withdrawal symptoms – is the feeling of eyes burning holes into you at every opportunity. YOU’RE HOLDING HIM WRONG. YOU SHOULDN’T TICKLE HIS FEET. YOU NEED TO MAKE SURE HE SLEEPS ON HIS SIDE. OR BACK. OR FRONT. OR SUSPENDED FROM THE CEILING. BREAST IS BEST! BREAST IS WORST! EITHER IS FINE! LOOK AT THAT POOR BOY’S SHOES. WHAT’S THE RASH ON HIS FACE? HOW COME YOU HAVEN’T CLEANED THAT SICK OUT OF HIS HAIR? IT’S FREEZING, WHY ISN’T HE WEARING A SOMETHINGVICIOUS.COM SWEATER? It goes on, and on, and on. Eventually you’ll stop caring, but it’s a shit feeling when you’re waiting for someone to send that intrusive nanny bastard off the telly round to take your son away and set fire to your hair.

So there you are. A little island of truth in a vast sea of positive-thinking bollocks. Having a kid is great, but not for the first 6-12 months when basically you’re looking after the shittest puppy in the world. Enjoy your pregnancies and your 24 hour labours because that little fucker’s main goal until its first birthday is to make you unlearn everything you know about how to enjoy life successfully.

See you in 18 years, chump.

 

In grateful thanks to comrade Jonjo.

You might not know this but Jonjo runs a spectacular online t-shirt empire at www.somethingvicious.com. He’s like the Walter White of t-shirt cartels except he has more hair and hasn’t killed as many people.

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Posted on 19/05/2016, in Everyday Bullshit and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

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