I think people over exaggerate about how hard having a kid is. I've seen irresponsible people I know have kids and they did okay. Sure he may be coming off the bench in right field in little league, but he's alive. FYI, if he is coming off the bench as a right fielder that's the coaches way of saying maybe your kid should try something else, like making out with guys. That doesn't stop you though does it?
You still wake up hung-over bringing those stupid orange slices to the game, only to see every kid pass up on them for the brownies the cool parents brought. You stand there with that sticky zip lock bag and your luke warm oranges wondering what would've happened had you not taken that last shot of Patron six years ago and gotten pregnant during that experimental threesome at the Red Roof Inn, all because you wanted to knock it off your "To do before I die list."
As you reminisce, a salty tear falls from your eye while the sun glistens off your dampened cheek like a freshly polished wine glass on the patio of the Cheesecake Factory. You glance to the right only to see that kid that smells like urine knock over your Kiwi Strawberry Snapple all over your fake Gucci purse. You resist cussing him out and raise your left hand to wipe away your tear and see your wedding ring, that reminder of eternal love...only the glimmer is not what it once was. You grab your son and cuss out the coach screaming, "You don't know shit about stickball queer!" (Why you would be making derogatory homophobic allegations is beyond me).
You get in your salvaged apricot Prius and head to a local pawn shop to have your ring appraised. A handsome young man named Ramon, resembling the Cool Water cologne guy helps you. He informs you that your ring is a fake, and gently slides his hand on your shoulder. You tell your kid to wait in the car and listen to the Celine Dion Christmas mixtape you made, as you walk to the back of the store where he bangs your lifeless body on top of an unplugged mini refrigerator. Right before you climax, your hamstring cramps up from overdoing it during a Zumba class yesterday. You kick a shelf and a vase falls, hitting Ramon in the head knocking him unconscious. You begin to see blood and check his pulse....he's dead.
You open a cabinet and find a bottle of purple Fabuloso and frantically mop to erase all the evidence. On a desk is a pipe filled with OG Kush, you take a few hits, but you smoked too much.... now you are paranoid. You steal his weed, empty his safe, and light the building on fire. As you sit in your car and reapply your melted cherry Wet n' Wild lipstick your son asks, "what's wrong mom?" You smile at him and say, "son...how about you shut the fuck up and mind your own business." As you slap the IPad out of his hands, cracking the screen and destroying any chance he had of passing level 92 on Candy Crush. He cries, but you don't care because you are high and just murdered someone. Anyways back to my point, kids aren't that hard. I'm willing to bet money I could have a kid AND keep it alive.