If anyone had told me what percentage of my day would be spent listening to the irrational and piercing cry of one Hellboy I'd have laughed and told them there weren't 28 hours in a day. I'd have been wrong, of course, but the fact remains that no one can ever truly prepare you for the hell that is an infant.
Wrap all of the worst characteristics of your average person into the miniature body of a human. Remove all reason from said sack of loud and unleash it on two people who feel immeasurable quilt at every cry that comes from sack. Add in Geneva-Convention-violating amounts of sleep deprivation. That, my friends, that is having a child.
Notice that diapers made no appearance in that list of horrors? Know why? Because only an idiot thinks that changing diapers is the worst of having an infant in the house. The diaper changing is easy. It has a beginning, middle, and end (pun fully intended). There's a reason behind (ahem) it, some semblance of logic: food goes in, poop comes out, diaper is changed and disposed of, new diaper applied. Would you like the undercoating with that, sir? Perhaps and extended warranty? No? Well then, good day, sir. It makes sense, as a man, the changing of diapers. The screaming, the piercing, incessant, mindless screaming, that does not make sense and that you cannot stop it does not make sense.
Couldn't make them sing, eh, Life?
The only off button is the breast milk but you don't have breast milk. You have breasts and useless nipples and a screaming mound of suck. Why on earth don't men produce breast milk? How hard could that have been, eh, Life? It's further proof that there is no God for if there were Men would have fucking milk producing breasts for those occasions when the little bundle of joy won't shut the fuck up.
Cruel joke, Life.
If anyone tells you that having children is a blessing or the greatest thing you can do with your life or anything else flowery or romantic or ridiculous please run away from them. They are either liars, idiots, or grandparents seeking to ruin your life the way you ruined theirs. Yes, children are amazing but mostly when they are someone else's and don't live at your quite, orderly, clean house. Or they're old enough to walk, talk, and wipe their own asses. This whole infant thing is a horrible blight. How in the hell did we ever make it out of the trees with these little bastards constantly alerting every predator for a mile around that hey, tasty helpless meat right here! Come and get your fresh hominid! Bicameral mind be damned, we're louder than hell and easy to catch!
Hellboy. The very moment you're ready to call it quits the little bastard smiles, drools, and does his new dog trick of rolling over several times. He'll finish with some baby gibberish and all of a sudden you love him. You love him and want to hold him forever and teach him how to track game, shoot a gun, light a fire, drive stick, surf, take a photo, catch a ball, skateboard, read, drink wine, and smoke cigars. You want very desperately for him not to ever get hurt but you know it'll happen and it'll be fine but still...
Nice, Life. Worked in a little safety valve, did ya?
It's all so very much to take in and it comes in such a rush. If anyone had actually told me what it was going to be like it might have been easier but I suppose nothing worth doing is ever really easy.
Peace out, bitches!