Babies Are Assholes

Babies are assholes.

There. I said it.

They’re little jerks who steal our time, our money, our social lives, our sleep, our personal drive. They make every moment about them-them-them and they never say thank you. Seriously. Don’t have one. Never have one. No one should ever have one.

Sure, all this asshole behavior might be because they can’t talk. But even if they could, they wouldn’t appreciate anything. Kids don’t really develop a sense of gratitude (as in a real, deep sense and not just pleases and thank-yous) until they’re not really kids anymore. Until they have a real-life apprenticeship or go away to college. Until they have a sense of what we went through with their jerkasses, if they have jerkasses of their own. So even if they had the words please and thank you as babies, they’d use them to beg for more time, more contact, more MORE! See? Jerks.

Do not be fooled by the cute things.

I didn’t know any of this when we tried for years to have a baby. I didn’t think he was an accoutrement like a purse or a pair of shoes, either. I just didn’t think he’d be such a jerk. I seriously do not understand why we’re killing the planet with our overpopulation. How can so many billions of us exist? How can all of us survived this most asshole time of life? (I’m not advocating abuse, of course, just marveling at mothers’ and fathers’ and mothers’ and mothers’ and fathers’ and fathers’ ability to put up with asshole babies.)

What I realized by the time he was here awhile is that I didn’t want a baby. I wanted a kid. How many days I wished I could pour water on him and he’d expand and grow like a dime-store sponge toy. How many nights I wanted to max out my credit card and fly far, far away from that horrible crying sound. How often I wished I could fast-forward the years until he was a well-behaved, verbal four-year-old who enjoyed playing dress-up and reading about dinosaurs.

But he’s here to stay and I am too. And we’re starting to figure each other out. It’s only taken a year. It’s only taken until he’s not really a baby anymore. But I suppose I take at least that long to get to know anyone. To see through the selfish, jerkface nature of any average person.

And there’s the rub. My jerkass son has taught me so much about that. He taught me that we all start out as jerks and it’s up to us, the parents and caregivers and adults of the world, to teach us how not to be. How to have empathy. How to share. How to see beyond our noses and the snot that comes out of them. How to be fully human. Not just another asshole.

By jennyroseryan

Jenny Rose Ryan is a DIY junkie and a self-professed grandma. (In the sense that she likes to say things like, "Back in my day..." and enjoys doilies, blue hair and making things from scratch.) A frequent contributor to BUST Magazine, Jenny Rose also contributed heavily to the BUST DIY Guide to Life (while 9 months pregnant -- the ultimate do-it-yourself experience), and is an avid runner and marathon-fiend. When not carin' for the grumpy babe, writing or running, you can find her listening to new metal (as opposed to nu metal) and being so horrified by American politics that she bakes instead.

14 replies on “Babies Are Assholes”

Ugh, babies.

Try having to deal with a prem baby birth like my mother did with me. Then, have to deal with the little insolent prem baby asshole who can’t even use her grammar properly. And who has mild add/ocd tendancies. And who insists on owning a bird that just WILL NOT shut up – “cheep cheep cheep” OMG stop it! You have a mirror, plus I talk to you, like, all the time, bird! What more do you want from me! Oh, and that little ass can’t even manage to write a 200 word product report for school because somehow, eating doritos and mashed potato is more important. It is due tomorrow! Get it together! Your mother had to push you out of her vagina, the least you can do is get stuff done when it needs to be done! My god!

Uh, wait what were we talking about again?

I have to say, I like babies, the ones who aren’t doing anything yet but are cute. Like the one I was just playing with whole smiled all night, while his brother goes BIKE, RIDE, NOW, COME, BIKE, NOW, COME. Leave me to my cheese and crackers in peace child. Your brother is just drooling on me, and that is fine.

I’ve just been informed about a funny story about C, the older brother. Mr. Cesy went to their house to look for my phone, and his Mum asked C who had visited last night. C’s Mum asked “So who visited last night?” C answered “Mr Cesy”. Nothing about me! I was the one who did sweet jumps on the scooter with him for ages, while Mr Cesy was a big grumpy bum who told C off! Boo C, no more Duplo for you!

‘What I realized by the time he was here awhile is that I didn’t want a baby. I wanted a kid. How many days I wished I could pour water on him and he’d expand and grow like a dime-store sponge toy.”

Bingo.  If I could choose to pop out of 4 yr old I totally would.  ;)

They are assholes, but then they do this:

And you forget that they just spent the last hour screaming for no apparent reason, and you forget that they will probably be awake in a few hours demanding more something, and you relax in the euphoric bliss of a quiet house, me time and a precious bundle in the other room.

Leave a Reply