Yesterday morning your 7 and 9 year olds casually mentioned sex during breakfast.
Now, I’m totally into the idea of raising well-informed humans, but you haven’t the slightest on what that means. No, they learned it from YouTubers when falling down the rabbit hole of too-mature-for-them video game you allow them to play day and night. Their formative knowledge of sex is in form of make believe robots and my deepest fear is that they act out what they see on each other, all because their careless egg donor “forgot” to switch on parental settings on their personal fucking computers.
Then, just a few hours later, I was to sit in the same room as you. At the same table, even. For our fated meeting about your kid’s speech therapy progress.
We arrived way early to pick up the kids and the anticipation was killing me.
Then, late as usual, your thighs thundered their way into our quiet room and you, in all your fruit print covered glory, piercing everyone’s ears with a squeaky introduction aimed at the space across from me. I may have developed a twitch from the screeching that comes out of your face hole.
Hilariously, the two tiny chairs on our side of the table were occupied, so you had to awkwardly waddle to find another one, strategically placing it at arm’s length, and away from us. Was it just me or did your square ass try to swallow that seat? Teachers had to stretch their necks to address you every time and for someone who normally hides, you sure made yourself look as stupid and petty as you really are. This, after the tickles I felt when my name kept being brought up over and over again, to be included in the pamphlet we were going through, and for all future meetings.
You decided to tell the teachers about how your kids use their iPads, and proceeded to vomit complete nonsense about the way they like doing their homework and how they like to spend time away from each other. How the fuck would you know? My eyes rolled so hard and so many times I thought everyone could hear them.
I really enjoyed correcting you backhanded, because unlike you I actually spend time with them with zero screens to scramble their brains with. We talk. We read. We climb. We draw. We play. We create. We dream. We cook. We dance. We clean. We fight. We hug.
You. You post shit like this:
“When you at work and you get videos of your babies riding bikes without training wheels ( just last weekend I was lying in bed stressing about being a terrible mother since they still couldn’t 🙄🙄🙄) But NOW!! 😍😍😍 now we just gotta get some new helmets.”
So… You’re stressing about being a terrible mother, but NOW you’re on top, because someone else did the work for you? Opportunist pig, taking credit for everyone else’s efforts; pretending to give a shit.
But that wasn’t all of it. The world was then graced with:
“today was a rough day. i’m emotionally drained. tomorrow marks 2 years from making the best decision of my life. it’s not easy by any means. but the last two years have brought so much more happiness to my life since becoming an adult.”
1) Your rough day consisted of a half day at work, probably watching music videos until stuffing your face full of food. Going to a short meeting where you got to see your kids. Gyrotonics. Shopping. Couch. 2) You’re emotionally drained from what exactly? Speaking to your kids’ teachers and, god forbid, being in the same room as me? Sure. 3) Actually, the two year mark is in two days, you idiot. Last year you were late by a day. Figure it out since it’s so fucking important. 4) You didn’t make the decision, your ex did. He. Left. You. 5) When did you become an adult exactly? Was it when your parents paid for everything? 6) You are the happiest pig.
It’s ok, you can play your tiny violin to get the attention you need. And you can prove your worth by spending money on yourself. And you can earn your kids’ respect by not interacting with them outside of Snapchat and bribes.