Why I don’t want kids

Swéta Rana
Aug 24, 2017 · 3 min read

When I say I don’t want kids, many people seem incredulous. “But why?!” they ask in bafflement, their faces contorted in aghast contempt, scratching their heads until they’re chafing bone. “Oh, you’ll change your mind one day!” they chortle, reaching out and firmly slapping my pathetic ignorant face.

Really? You’re all so hellbent on kids, huh? I used to think, “Each to their own,” but increasingly I am firmly against the idea of bringing kids into the home at all. Here are five simple reasons I don’t want kids in my life. See if you’re not convinced.

1. The noise

The incessant wailing is enough to do anyone’s head in. On and on they’ll bleat into the night, rudely jolting you awake, even at obscene times like 10.30. When you go and pat their head and lovingly order them to shut the hell up, do they listen? Do they heck. They blithely ignore the sanctity of the head pat and continue yowling away. Such insolence can scarcely be comprehended.

2. The mess

Did you know kids don’t arrive fully housetrained? Well, they don’t. A simple short-term solution is to fling all the nappies and excrement-sheathed dinner plates out of the window into the void; however, the void is notorious for throwing them right back, and then reporting you to Neighbourhood Watch. Then everyone on the street will slightly cock an eyebrow when they see you. Is having a kid worth becoming that kind of social pariah? I think not.

3. The constant responsibility

You can’t leave them alone for a second — nip out for a quiet drink or twelve, next thing you know your kid’s bumped their head on the kitchen counter and your house has burned to the ground and the police are calling you up and you have to ask Wonky Craig who lives in the alley for a fake passport and you have to wear a really unflattering fake monobrow so your face matches the passport and you don’t have enough change to buy a Mexican Spanish phrasebook so you can’t even begin your brand new life as a hotel receptionist with sufficient aplomb, goddammit.

4. The horns

Oh you didn’t know about the horns? Hmm, funny how no one seems to know about the horns. Oh, you all want kids do you? But you can’t be bothered to do basic goddamn Wikipedia research? No, no, I know they’re not born with horns. But the horns will come. The horns always come.

5. The wrath of the scorned farmer

Doesn’t matter which obscure hick farm you stole your kid from — the farmer always finds you in the end. If you’re lucky, they’ll simply take their kid back, spit in your face and denounce you as a common thief. If you’re unlucky, they’ll bring the kid’s mother along. Believe me, a nanny goat’s furious hooves are a force to be reckoned with. If you ever recover from the sustained horned headbutts to the abdomen, you’ll think twice about having a kid again.

Kids don’t belong in the home, guys. They belong on the farm. Get it into your obstinate skulls already.

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Written by

Raised on a diet of Enid Blyton and American comedy. Naturally I’m incredibly confused. @s_rana_

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