The little hobbits.

Think of a baby with the best ratio of chubbiness to big eyes, to shy, to open, to happy, to small, little fingers.

Now, this is a picture. Unreal. Never has existed. And this is what I, like most of us, like.

Now the difference is that I can admit that I don’t like the truth. The reality.

Mothers who say that they love those little evil cuteness-balls, are liars. Now, don’t get me wrong, maybe they do love them – like mothers. But that’s pretty much given in a non-pathological family. Compared to those where the parents actually give zero shits and as a result children grow up as zero shits giving people. (Most of the time)

However, there is no way they love their puke, poops, and screaming. There is no way they love their stubbornness and cheekiness and drama.

My opinion on children is nice, sweet and short. They are friends with the demons for no coincidental reason.

I mean honestly, do not tell me you think they are innocent when they’re trying to kill me. Or scare me. Or blow my ears out. Or make me feel one million times shittier nanny than I already am. (sorry if you didn’t understand the previous sentence – I am not sure how to express my emotions fully when it comes to the little hobbits.)

And technically I am a hypocrite, because I loved being a child. In my opinion – in some ways – I still am one to this day.

But just because I loved being one, does not automatically put me into the category of “ohh I want to have three kids when I grow up”. In fact I am of the opinion that there is too many parent-less hobbits out there today. And instead of having more unprotected sex, we should think about adoption.

Love doesn’t exist anyway.



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