Little Stinky-Pants

I don't hate all kids. But I generally don't like children all that much and I particularly dislike babies. And just because I'm not a fan of small people who are constantly leak from every orifice doesn't make me a bad person. I understand that I am different from most other women, especially those my age. So I am willing to make mommies happy by saying things like,

"Yes, your baby is beautiful, gorgeous, radiant even. It's gender is completely obvious. It bears no resemblance to neither alien nor monkey. And, yes, it's a genius too, that cooing sound and it's fascination with bright colors are a sure sign it will be doing calculus by the end of the week."

I know mothers see their offspring through rose colored glasses, I know "it's different when it's your own." And I'm willing to fib to you to keep up this illusion. But there is a line. One I will not cross, and if you cross it, all bets are off. That line is shit.

Your baby's shit, is shit. It will never be cute, it will never be adorable, it will never be amazing to anyone but you. Even that baby won't want to hear about it once it knows what you're talking about. And it stinks, you may say that you don't notice, or that it smells good to you, but you're wrong. It's shit, it stinks. PLEASE, please stop talking about it!

This photo is proof I don't eat babies (like I have been accused of in the past). She was two years old in this picture, she handed me the book and climbed in my lap without any prompting and we read the whole thing together. Her mother, in a state of complete shock I'm sure, grabbed my camera to document it.