Tag Archives: babies

Weddings, Birthdays and Babies, Oh My!


So I know that there always seems to be some sort of exciting event in people’s lives at work. You can count on it in any office, big or small. It affects everyone. It seems that I see the people in my office more than my own family sometimes so naturally (before the Prozac wears off), I feel inclined to share in their happy times. But it’s seriously starting to get ridiculous. I don’t know how many more lunches/cakes/gifts/gift cards/cards/flowers/showers/singing telegrams/bottles of liquor/decorations and so on that I can donate to before I have to choose between paying my electric bill and insulting Jack in accounting. And God knows if I don’t share in the joy of Jack’s 150th anniversary of being married to that horrid woman who calls the office every day and still calls me Christie (I hate that name), I’ll never hear the end of it. And if I don’t give $10-20 towards the gift, then he’ll be pissed because one time I gave Melissa a stuffed animal I won out of the claw machine when her cat died.

sad man(Geez, I hit a cat on my way to work this morning and I didn’t get squat!)

The thing is, I like Melissa. She is my friend and she is a super nice girl. She knew all about that rash and the kerfuffle at the free clinic and she didn’t tell a soul! She’s fantastic. But I don’t like Jack. Jack is a dick. He is rude and lazy and a liar. He eats people’s lunches out of the fridge and thinks we don’t know and if you call out sick, he tells everyone you’re either hung over or knocked up. Why should I spend my hard earned money on someone like that? We’re not friends; we’re co-workers. Then there’s always the email that goes around stating, “If you would like to give toward the office gift, see Jane. But you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Yeah, right. More like, “You don’t have to give if you want to be known as the bitchy office cheapskate.” I’ve worked in small, medium and large offices. It doesn’t matter. Everybody knows everybody’s business. If you don’t give, they’re going to know. I’m not stingy but I could go bankrupt from buying pastel colored gift bags alone. It’s not that I want to be mean but jeez! It seems the gift giving requirements are getting more and more demanding every year.

office gossip(She can afford to get lunch from the 7-11 but not chip in for Mavis’ cruise? What an uppity bitch!)

I mean, congrats on your new baby. Babies are great. I don’t have one but I hear they’re endlessly amusing despite the smell. One of the attorneys in an office I worked at had no fewer than five, count ‘em folks, FIVE baby showers! And yet I’m still supposed to give her something!? What the hell else could that kid possibly need? It’s dressed better than me at this point. It’s insane. Who has that many baby showers and still asks underpaid staff for more gifts?

AngryBaby(Yes, a baby massage table is a necessity. I HAVE STRESS!)

And if you don’t pony up, you get that look of, “What did poor, pregnant girl/bride/birthday girl ever do to you?” or “Why do you hate babies?” or “Oh, of course you don’t want to give the bride a gift. You’re divorced. You hate love.” No, I don’t hate love. I just hate your love. But if I try to argue the point, I just look even more pathetic and hateful. It’s better just to hand over some cash and keep my mouth shut.

kid money(Congrats on your bris, kid. Though this won’t be much comfort about a half hour from now.)

I want to know when us single people are going to get showers and parties. There are always a few of us in any office who are not married and do not have kids. We’re getting stiffed here! Shouldn’t we get some sort of gift-related recognition for being able to properly use a condom and not joining our lives to the first person who asks out of fear of dying alone? I think we should. Not gonna happen but it would be awesome.

redneck couple(Yeeaahhhh, totally worth it. Maybe my standards are too high.)

Bottom line, I am sick to death of being guilted into buying anymore gifts for anyone in the damned office. If we’re close, I will know what’s coming up in your life and be happy to gift you for it and vice versa. As for the other 98% of the office, let’s try “don’t ask/don’t tell”. Don’t ask me for gifts and then I don’t have to tell you no. That policy has to be good for something.

embarrassing(No, no, don’t explain. I should’ve known to knock before I opened the supply closet.)

There are, of course, birthdays. I think it’s nice if the office wants to have maybe one cake per month for all the birthdays in that month. It would save us all a lot of time and money. As for me, I love my birthday. Yes, I’m sprinting towards middle age like a starving cheetah on crack with the Sizzler in its sights but I still love my birthday. It’s actually more of a week span of celebration but I still call it birth-day. I have my family and friends who are required to celebrate and appreciate me accordingly. I don’t expect anyone at the office to get me anything. If you notice me wearing my birthday tiara and want to say “Happy Birthday. I can’t believe you’re only 29”, that’s great. And we can go to lunch together but I can pay for myself. Unless, of course, you insist. But if you are not family or appointed friends, then don’t spend your money on me. Just cover my donation next time Jenny gets knocked up again.

lots of kids(Dear God! Don’t you people ever just watch tv?)


Fear Factor: Babies


I was a baby once. I don’t really remember it though. I was probably drunk. But I like babies. They’re cute and soft and smell good 2/3 of the time. You can buy them stuff and they laugh at your jokes as long as you end them with a belly zerbert. Though to be honest, that works on my mom, too. You can teach them to like what you like and hate what you hate. You can teach them how to hug, how to walk, how to potty and how to say curse words. And these are the things you don’t want them learning on the street. Super fun! It seems recently lots of my friends are either knocked up or just finished birthing. So it kinda puts babies on the brain. Now, don’t get it twisted. It doesn’t make me want to have a baby. (Sorry, Melanie. I know you’re holding fast to that fading torch.) But it makes me think of all the reasons why babies scare the ever living hell out of me.

(Dude. Stop looking at me like that…Seriously…Stop it! You’re freaking me out.)

The Body

So I have learned through my sister and friends that the joys of pregnancy actually suck. Of course, there’s the obvious weight gain and emotional crap pregnant women go through. And we all know how I would hate to destroy my hawt physique or super stable psyche. But you know what else happens? Stretch marks that make your gut look like a freaking topographical map. You become the before picture for a Proactive zit commercial. You get hemorrhoids to your knees. You can’t sleep on your stomach (my fav). You have nightmares. Your hair goes crazy (not my hair!). Your teeth get soft because the baby’s sucking all your nutrients from within. You leak pee-pee. Your boobs get veins that rival your stretch marks. And all of this before the damn kid even arrives!

(The demon who did this to me? We call him Skippy, Jr.)

Now, I saw my sister give birth. It was not cute. To bring your bundle of joy into the world, they give you an episiotomy. That’s a cut from ummm…Point A towards, ummm… Point B so you don’t literally tear yourself a new one. Oh my freaking Lord! Then, you most likely will take a giant crap on the table in front of your doctor, nurses, husband, flower delivery guy and so forth. And just when the fruit of your looms makes an appearance and you think “thank God that’s over”, you learn…it’s not over. You have to spend another God knows how long birthing “placenta” or the sack o’ nasty your baby has been living, breathing, eating and pooping in for 9 months without a bath. Wow, bringing a new life in the world is a beautiful thing.

Depleting Resources

Now of course, as most non-reproductive people do, I have to talk about money. Babies/kids cost a damn lot of money. And babies aren’t like bills. You can’t play Bill of the Month Club with them. “Oh, sorry electric company. You lose. Better luck getting paid next month!” I can do that. Try telling a kid, “Well, it was food or clothes this time around. Enjoy your corn nuts. You can wear your birthday suit to school this week. Mommy loves you!” People will call the cops on your ass for that shit. Baby clothes cost some mad cash. One time, I was looking for an outfit for one of my friends who had created precious life with her soul mate-of-the-week. Baby clothes cost just as much as Christa clothes! And since I was buying something for the kid, I didn’t want to feel left out, so I had to buy something for me, too. I mean, why should the baby get all the presents? It won’t even remember what I got it. I’m important, too. And if I had my own kids, this mode of shopping could bankrupt a gal with a quickness.

(I know it’s itchy, but blue makes Mommy’s eyes pop!)

And that’s not counting stuff like toys, diapers (who the hell pays $30 for a box of fancy paper towels for a baby to crap on?), safety gear, medicine, doctors, pictures, cleaning fluids…and that’s not half of what these beings require to survive the first month. I could go on. But I won’t. But I could.

Emotional Damage

Babies like to cry. Some people think it’s because the kid wants something. Like food or love. I know better. Babies cry because they like it. They can’t read, they can’t change the tv channel to something they like, they can’t fix themselves a snack, they can’t drive to the movies and they have no money (see above). So how can they entertain themselves? By making the big people run around like a bunch of idiots to see what they can do to make Baby stop making that God awful noise. HI-lariousness! I will be straight up with you right now. The sound of a crying baby makes my ovaries turn themselves inside out and shrivel up like raisins. Look kid, cry alone in the bathtub with a bottle of Pinot like the rest of us. Quit the public dramatics already.

(This is my lady parts…this is my lady parts on crying babies. Any questions?)

And you know what, as cute as babies are, they don’t stay that way forever. Babies turn into adolescents, tweenagers, teenagers (oh my). You think baby crying was bad? Wait until they’re old enough to cry louder, harder and yell, curse and hate you for weeks on end without stopping. Oops, there goes those ovaries again. I didn’t like adolescence when I went through it. Why the hell would I want to go through it again with the person who gave me hemorrhoids that still haven’t healed in 13 years? That’s right. I don’t.

Selfless vs. Selfish

I’ll be honest. What most of this comes down to is I’m a selfish bitch. And I’m ok with that. I love that on an airplane, when they give the oxygen mask speech, they tell you to put your own mask on first and then help a kid. Because that’s what I’d do regardless and I don’t want to be getting the stink eye on a crashing plane for looking out for Number One.

(So, can I like use you as a flotation device? You know…just in case.)

It takes a super selfless person to be a parent. I’m not necessarily that person. I like my life. I like going out when I want. I’m pretty sure giving my kid a shot of Nyquil with a Benadryl chaser so I can go to All-80’s-Karaoke-Night-Drinks-½-Price-if-You’ll-Sing-Huey-Lewis, is a bad idea. You know, the cop thing again. I don’t want to watch my damn, hell, ass language. You also have to teach kids stuff. I’m a crappy teacher. I get so frustrated with stupid people. “What do you mean, I have to teach you how to feed yourself? You’ve been out of the womb for like, months now. Geez, look it up.” Also, what if I hate my baby? What if it’s an asshole and I don’t even realize it. It happens to people all the time. Or worse, what if I do realize my kid’s an asshole? What do I do? Should I tell him? Or pretend he’s cool? I don’t know which is meaner. And again on the selfish thing, this child probably needs a father figure. Someone to be strong, kill bugs, avoid uncomfortable situations like sex talks and smack the kid around if it needs it.  I don’t want to have to smack my own kid when she’s being a douche. I would be her world and it might scar her or something. Whoopins are so a dad thing. My dog would be a good protector and listener and she’ll walk away if you’re boring her like a dad. She’s hairy enough. But she’s a girl. And I can’t ask Brian to do everything for me. And I sure as hell am not pretending to love some loser so he’ll play daddy to my kid. I’m going through enough pretending my kid’s not a jerk-ass, serial killer in the making. Ugh, I need some me time.

So, we can all see now why a baby just isn’t my “thing”. I’ll never say never. Except for there, where I totally just said never. You never know what the future will bring. (Damn, there I go with the “never” thing again!) My mind is open. But I really just can’t see it. I love, love, adore my nieces. And I love my friends sweet, cuddly little bay-bays. But when all is said and done, I am damn glad to accept those adorable hugs and kisses then hand them over at the end of the day when they’re tired and cranky and I’m through filling them with sugar. All hail the real heroes…MOMS and DADS!

(He’s hungry, dirty, wet and pissed at the Republicans. Thanks for letting me babysit!)

Peace, babies!