The highs and lows of parenting and real estate.

Open Letter to My Procreating Friends

Dear All of My Friends And Family Who’ve NOW Decided To Have Babies,

You suck and I hate you.

OK, that probably wasn’t the nicest way to start this letter. Let’s try again:

Congratulations on your decision to start a family. It’s a wonderful and fulfilling experience to become a parent and I’m sure it will totally enrich your life (when you’re not ready to slit your wrists because you haven’t slept in 72 hours because the baby only sleeps when you’re holding her or people are visiting and want to see how cute she is with her eyes open). I can’t wait to see you and your little one and the joy you will derive just from gazing at her sweet tiny hands (and the residual puke you’ll have constantly down your back). You won’t regret making this choice (very often).

Also? You suck and I hate you.

Dudes, seriously? I have been trying to talk you all into venturing down the road of the miracle of procreation with me (ok, not with me) for ELEVEN GODDAMN YEARS. You had all these lame, whiney excuses:

I want to be more financially secure.

I’m not ready to have children.

I’m not married or even dating anyone.

I’m only 18 years old and unemployed.

Pathetic, I say. You people just weren’t willing to put any effort into it at all. Pansies. So I went it alone.

And now what do I hear? NOW you’re suddenly ready to have kids? Now you’re all, “I have a good job and a loving partner and I feel secure that I can give a child a solid upbringing.”

Really? And just when does this all occur? Oh that’s right, ten seconds after my THIRD child has finally morphed from ‘tiny tornado who makes me want to pull my own eyelashes out 80% of the time’ to ‘slightly more manageable small tropical storm who might eventually turn into a human who doesn’t end up with a mug shot’.

You all are busy getting all knockered up and now my babies are practically grown up! I’m a year and a half away from no more daycare payments. More importantly, I’m a year an a half away from all three of my kids being in school (AKA: day drinking and partying all the time for me). I’m only like 2.5 years away from my eldest being old enough to babysit the younger two. I just almost passed out from the joy of that possibility. Oh the freedom that would come with a built-in babysitter. My husband and I could potentially go out to dinner and NEITHER ONE OF US would have to take anyone to the bathroom 18 seconds after the food was delivered to the table and then get pee on our shoes from lifting a small boy up to pee in the too-tall-toilets.

I have all of that exciting freedom to look forward to and now you are all ready to join the ranks of parenthood. So you know the only thing I can think of? How fun and awesome it would be to do it all again with you. Mine are getting so big. And having a big family is so fun… maybe it would be even MORE fun to add one more. Tiny fingers and toes. Little outfits. Squishy huggable baby. And maybe the next one would be a… No, I can’t even say it. It’s probably not even a possibility. (GIRL!!)

It would be so fun to have a baby the same age as your babies. We could go to the park together and they could play. We could hang out on New Year’s Eve because none of us can find a sitter. Our babies could be best friends. I could finally have the daughter I’ve always dreamt about.

On the other hand: sleepless nights, poopy diapers, exorbitant childcare costs, pregnancy, no drinking during pregnancy, no drinking during breastfeeding, chasing another toddler (probably another boy toddler), putting a fourth child through college, trying to manage helping a 6th grader with his homework, a 2nd grader with his chores, a 4 year old with not destroying the house AND caring for an infant?

Maybe not. I’m literally torn in half. (OK, not literally. Just checking to see if you were paying attention.)

I hate you.

Love and kisses,

Your sister, BFF, childhood buddy, college drinking pal, high school nemesis, buddy from work’s wife, real estate agent, friend

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