My whole life people told me I won’t be ready for the next step. Middle school teachers telling you you won’t get away with that high school. High school teachers saying that shit won’t fly in college. College professors saying “the real world” is going to be a wake up call. It’s all bullshit. So now with my friends starting to knock girls up on purpose, all I hear is how I couldn’t handle a baby.
I can handle a baby. I’m an uncle? Basically the same thing except more dope. My sister following our Irish Catholic family tradition, had four kids in five years. Her oldest is six and I watch those kids every Monday. Easy as shit.
I pick the movie out before they get here and press play as they ring the doorbell. Now I control what we watch and I can finally get those damn Frozen songs out of my head. Oh they’re bored of the movie? No problem, I almost passed out blowing up four balloons. They played keep-it-up for two hours last time I broke them things out. Little demons passed right out. If they get sick of that there’s barbies, my old wrestlers, and puzzles. Or if I really want to wear them out, I bring out the mini soccer ball. I talk my shit until they try to steal it and then I put them all on skates. I’m snatching ankles around that coffee table.
It’s all fun and games until one of them shits. Luckily for me, I have Uncle rights. That’s when I pick them up by their armpits, fully extended away from me, and give them to my mom or sister. So I don’t do poop, big deal? I could. I could do poop. I do my own poop daily. And since my own child would be an extension of me, then their poop would also be my poop. Problem solved.
Crying doesn’t bother me. Whenever one of them cries I pick them up, bring them into a dark room and sing to them. I find it hilarious. Because they think it’s a passed down lullaby but really it’s just “Buy U A Drank” by T-Pain.
The whole sleeping thing is fake. Like yeah, you’re probably sleeping a lot less but it’s really not that big of a deal. By the time you’re complaining about it to people your body has already adjusted to it. During my work week, I’m happy if I get three hours. That’s not a flex, I used to be a sleep monster. But when your life doesn’t permit eight hours, your body just adapts. I used to cry without a ten hour minimum. So if I can do it, so could anybody else.
The only real obstacle is a mindset. I assume that comes with the territory. Before you become a parent, you’ve only ever been a child. Doesn’t make sense to start thinking like a parent before you are one. For instance, my sister asked me to bring my nieces to their swim lesson last week. I got to go in and watch. I stood at the edge of the pool smiling at my nieces because they’re fucking hysterical. Didn’t think anything of it. I was approached by a gentleman who shakily asked me which one was mine. Without breaking my gaze with the pool I said, “Oh haha none of them.” Which was exactly the answer he was scared to hear. Clearly me, as a 6’2”, +260 balding man, didn’t come across as the new swim instructor. It didn’t even occur to me to explain myself until he told me that he thought I should leave.
Poop and mindset, two tiny hurdles. Lack of sleep, crying, keeping them occupied? That shit is cake walk. I didn’t get anyone pregnant or anything, there’s no real reason for me to prove that I could handle having a kid. I just felt like talking my shit because I’m sick of some of my friends pretending like they’re the first couple in history to ever have a baby. You know who I’m talking about. The “OH YOU JUST WAIT!” people. Like shut up? It’s probably not even that hard.
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