If anyone here doesn’t have children and are thinking about procreation here’s about 264 reasons not to bother
* you will on average fill yourself a bath up 4 times a week and never get to get in it
* you will never ever have the chance to get yourself ready. One of your darling womb fruits will either shit themself puke on themselves puke on anything in a 6 metre radius and play in it thus spreading vomit around like the flu virus and putting pukey hand prints on unironed clothes you’ve laid out for yourself
* your house will never be tidy. Imagine there’s an actual tornado twirling around your lounge dragging debris from your draws and under your sofa and you’re trying to pick it up and put it back but it just twirls and whirls and rips it all to pieces again
* you wont ever be able to have a shit in peace. Not ever. The door will open and close on a loop the whole time you’re in there for a variety of reasons. The baby has fallen the cat is biting me where’s my bag
*you’ll somehow find the time to have your hair done, promising to have it done every few months to keep on top of it. 7 months later you have 4 inches of dark root regrowth and the best you can do is put it into a pony tail looking like a crystal meth addict
* your dressing gown will be your best friend. Its raining and the bins need taking out put your dressing gown on. Youve left something in the car from a week last Wednesday that someone really needs, put your dressing gown on. Someone really upsets you, put your dressing gown on. And so on
* toilet roll. Youre probably best off joining Costco and bulk buying it weekly, if you don’t on day 3 you’ll be pretty sure people who don’t live here are coming in purely to wipe their arse holes
* sleep. Now if you like sleep you’ll never get any ever again. Probably only counts if you’re the actual mother fathers don’t seem to have any trouble sleeping at all. Love them. You’ll be awake probably 5 out of the 7 hours you’re up there, finding dummys comfort blankets patting bottoms shooshing arrrrring and having little stubby fingers poked in your eyes. You finally manage to shut your eyes and some other fucker will make a god awful noise outside the door and you’ll start the whole process over again. Only for a about 7 years so don’t panic
* laundry. Theres no such thing as a bottom of a washing basket. You’ll be utterly convinced people live in your house you’ve never met. Everyone will complain they have no clothes yet you spend 17 hours a day washing it drying it and putting it away.
* food shopping. It cost the national debt. Dont think you’re being super clever by swapping certain brands for cheaper alternatives. The little fucking bastards can tell the difference immediately and you’re left with 36 fish fingers that no fucker will eat. Same applies to jam and peanut butter and pretty much everything else
* leaving the house on time. Just forget it. You’ll plan to meet a friend for coffee at 11 and have to txt 36 times to put it back half an hour and by the time you’re ready its the following friday. The fleshy baby mammal will do a massive shit all up its back. It’ll puke projectile after ramming the tail of a dinosaur down its throat itll be hungry and then refuse to eat it so you offer it something else. You would have no doubt forgotten to do its fucking bottle because you’ve had a list of things to do longer than fucking schindlers
* Don’t bother buying new furniture or new anything actually. They will fucking destroy it with sticky shit wet shit chocolate shit dinner shit and any other shit they can get their mischievous fat hands on
* your car will resemble some kind of mobile recycling bin and if anyone else gets in they’ll subtly push the carnage aside with their feet. You will give up apologising. You either want a fucking lift or you don’t.