Probably the only woman in the world who never wanted to be a grandma
I am probably the only woman in the world who never wanted to be a grandma.
Ever.
Never ever!
Yes seriously.
And no: I don’t understand either.
But so don’t I understand cactuses either also, because why don’t you act as you should do: stinging everybody who needs an absolute karma treat.
So now we’re even.
I can list you a million reasons why I never was yerning for the most bold, tiny, unemployed, milk-scented, sticky, spoon-distrusting, attention-devouring, pudding-like, waddling, drool-driven, remote-control-eating dictators in the world.
They have the motor skills of a drunk penguin and operate on the daily, if not minute-by-minute, crisis management system of a runaway microwave filled with spaghetti.
And you just wait until this moment arrives: they all have also the habit to, at a certain moment in time, become some annoying, smartass, clothes throwing all over the place, and also complaining about their biggest amount clothes collections as: I have nothing to wear , drama throwing, attitidudes of tiny babies adults, whith it’s own set of self made rules that won’t even come close to the reality existing in this universe.
They drool, they scream, they want you to feed them, they smear poop all over your eyebrows and the rest of the place, it’s a wonder it doesn’t end up in your mouth which in fact is a small positive point.
They want you to entertain them with coochiecoo or some weird invented frase, probably ever created by someone highly intoxicated by a drug nobody knows what it exactly is and you above all, absolutely in a million hears want ot find out. Ever.
They have the awful habit of directly sneeze into your soul.
They try to eat things that are not technically part of the food pyramid. Including walls.
They make eye contact while pooping like it’s a power move.
They turn ‘slightly hungry’ into a national emergency.
They wake up the exact moment you whisper: ‘Finally’.
They develop sudden Olympic-level flexibility exclusively during clothing changes.
They produce sounds at 3:14 AM that suggest either demonic possession or a tiny goat in emotional crisis, but you need your rest badly.
They lick objects with the confidence of a professional food critic. They even lick your hand, like they think they are dog species.
They turn a five-minute grocery trip into a psychological aggressive marathon test thing event.
They require immediate transportation the second you sit down. Because somehow they possess the supernatural ability to detect when an adult becomes comfortable and immediately will ruin it.
They turn one sock invisible forever.
They require constant supervision despite contributing absolutely nothing to the mortgage. Even if you’re only babysitting they should pay mortgage.
And whatsup with that intense philosophical staring they intend to do?!
If babies are your family; they even never have something in common with you.
Except in my case maybe my annoying, hyperactive and nervous system destroying habit to multitask so that you’re completely wiped out in no time because you want to squeeze all of your future talents, useless tasks and unstable thoughts in one single second, because time is running out all the time and otherwise you feel like a totally useless jellyfish without dentures, only most of my teeth are still fine for the moment, and you want to make the most of life.
Nobody knows why.
I’d rather interact with invisible tampon throwing and burping ghosts then I would ever want to be called ‘grandma’ in a way you really feel like you died 90.000 times and stood up again for some annoying reason and have to uninstall yourself every time you are forced to interact with them, because their own mother sometimes has to do some weird work in the very form of painting and drawing 10 artworks at the same time with both her hands and feet for the strangest reasons I’ll never understand, so here I’ll come in supervising this tiny poopy creature every now and then.
Not to mention the insane stress and worries about explaining why (of even HOW) they ended up in this totally ridiculous idiotic, validation-hunting, algorithmically dehydrated, ringlight-worshipping, aggressively-filtered emotionally-overcooked-duckface-selfie-driven world.
I literally told my daughter, “Sorry I dumped you onto this planetary landfill together with what appears to be the highest concentration of idiots in the entire universe. If you’re smart, you’ll seriously reconsider repeating this experiment yourself.”
Did you know babies will lick the supermarket floor without hesitation but when they have to eat broccoli they’ll act like you offered them radioactive betrayal.
You don’t want one of those in your house; rather buy the broccoli instead.
But do you know what the most dramatic part is about not ever having wanted to be a grandma?
It’s the very moment people start asking you in the most euphoric way possible:
“And?! How do you feel now you’re a grandma?”
And let me be clear: they will rub the part of ‘GRANDMA’ in really hard!! And also: that tone they put up!
That hidious ridiculous tone they have, as if being grandparents is the most idyllic experience on planet earth, surroundings and more invisible fairy-like wonderly and flowerpower-eating places!
Well future askers: from now on I will force you all to read this blog of mine.
Written from the bottom of my heart.
You’re welcome.
POOPDISCLAIMER: I should explicity mention that NO poop has been smeared throughout my entire face!!! We have the cleanest baby ever on earth here, which makes my blog totally very boring!!!!!!!
Reliable sources informed me that there is an entire civilization of people not understanding the concept of humor, sarcasme, hyperbolic hilarious nonsense.
Which is an entire unbelievable shame!!!!
I am so glad I am me!!!
Greetings from an officially defective 60-year-old woman.
