I can’t have you. I mean physically I can, but mentally, CHRIST NO, why on earth would I put myself through that?
Before we’ve even thought about how you’d escape the prison that is my womb, how would you actually come to be IN my womb?
It doesn’t bare thinking about.
I like my time, my money, and my vagina and I hear that you’d ruin all of those things within minutes.
No, thank you.
Apparently, if I wanted to go on holiday I’d have to take you with me (annoying) but you can only go during half term (eugh, how restrictive), so my holiday is now a) more expensive and b) full of kids. I think I’ll shoot myself now.
I like my disposable income, it’s mine, I worked for it, you, my child, wouldn’t have done so why on earth do you think you’d be entitled to it?
If I did birth you (gross), I, unfortunately, wouldn’t be able to guarantee that you wouldn’t inherit some of my bad genetics. These include but are not limited to: an anxious mind, weird feet, buck teeth, horrendous smells and also, an obsession with country music. I really wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
You wouldn’t want me as a mother anyway, yes, I’m very caring and I like to put others first, but when I hear a child crying my ovaries do not pang with a longing to comfort said child. They shrivel up and die.
The other day my friend Cheryl and I were at the park when a child fell over and started to cry (dramatic much), Cheryl started “aww-ing” like it was a dog and I started screaming like it was a child, because it was. A crying one.
I then drop-kicked it into the slide, and now I’m banned from the park.
Also, I don’t have a friend called Cheryl, see I’m a liar as well, you really wouldn’t want me as a mum.
Good luck with your other parents,
Jdawg, aka Jshizzle ma nizzle aka NOT YOUR MOTHER