In school they would give bunch of us a doll to lug around that's suppose to simulate the resposibility of having a baby.
Now that I'm experiencing the real deal I've found my High School's version to be grossly inaccurate.
First, a bunch of new parents would probably not get away with kicking around their newborns to each other in the playground.
When my friend Tony "accidently" threw his new born daughter "Emma" onto the roof of the school, he would not be handed a new one with only a stern warning.
Those are the only ones I can tell you about. God, the nasty things that people did to those poor dolls.
Anyways, handing a bunch of dolls to Hartford Public School kids and asking that they respect them as if they were their living, human children that should be lugged around with them to the mall or wherever else we'd go to show them how hard parenting is and hopefully will scare them away from fucking was hardly effective.
The thing is that no matter how hard these teachers try to tell you that being a parent sucks they never tell you, or at least never real drive home the very worst part of the whole experience.
It's not the diapers, or the loss of a social life, or the extra expenses.
All those suck. But the very worst part of the deal is the screaming.
Ugh...there's just no getting use to it.
And no preparing you for it either. When we first brought Ian home he'd wake up in the middle of the night.
Crying I expected. Whaaa, whaaa
Ian was SCREAMING his head off!
Now, there's something embedded in everybody (except perhaps experinced mothers) when they hear someone screaming with that much enthusiasm they go into emergency mode.
So the first few nights when I was awoken by Ian screaming like he got his legs blown off by a landmine I jumped up to inspect him, expecting him to be lying in a weird position causing him a lot of pain or something.
Libby would just say "He's just hungry"
"He's hungry? Are you fucking kidding me?"
And it's not just hunger folks that will cause him to meltdown.
Lets say it's 3Am and well...he's bored.
WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! WAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHH OH GOD, IT BURNS, IT BUUUURRRRRNNNNSSS!!!!!!!
OK, he doesn't actually talk, I just threw that in for effect.
So you pick him up thinking he's hungry or his diaper needs changing and you see him giggle because he was bored and now it's party time.
So you tell him to stop being a fucking asshole wakey bug and go to sleep.
Then he starts up again as if you just laid him down in a pricker bush.
Oh, here's my favorite amature mistake! Thinking you can wait it out.
HA! YOU CAN'T DO IT SON!
Truth is yes, he'll eventually get tired and go to sleep.
In reality you'll be in a mental hospital by the time the little bastard woogie bear decides the party's over.
It's completely maddening.
Every mother over the age of 40 has told me to give him just a spoonful of cereal and he'll sleep through the night.
I say that doctors don't suggest that till much later and they'll hear nothing of it.
I mentioned it to Libby and she made it clear I'll be evaporated along with all records of my existance if I even think about bringing cereal near Ian before 9 months.
To be sure that she's not fucking around she's taking Photoshop classes so she can replace me in the family photos with her next husband.
So there. That's the reality of life with a baby. Think you're ready for a baby? Here's what I suggest.
Ask your husband/wife/mother/father/sister/brother/fuckbuddy whoever has a key to your abode to wake you up at all hours of the night by the loudest scream they can muster.
Also ask them to follow you around all day and scream their fucking brains out whenever they're hungry and don't stop until they're fed.
Do this every single day for 6 months.
If by the end of this time you don't love the "experience" you're going to be a bad parent and should never have kids.