Saturday, 14 May 2011

WTF Friday 13

What the Fuck Friday is the most blissfully belligerent day of the week. It’s the one day the author of this blog does not delicately arch an eyebrow in distaste at some perceived stupidity. Instead, she bottles it up for three weeks then coughs up a hairball of tangled feelings for her 39 fans to dissect.


I haven’t had a WTF rant in a while... it’s because two Fridays ago, there was an ‘incident’ that’s left me purple-faced and spitting. Spitting with indignation, not just randomly spitting on pavements... I’ve been so straight-up-and-down pissed off about this ‘incident’ that I’ve had to metaphorically cut my own tongue out lest I say something... illogical. That’s my problem here: you don’t get to rant without presenting SOME kind of logical argument to back yourself up. And my argument is as weak as tea made with thrice-used tea bags in times of war.

What happened? Travis was ill with the dreaded Green Snot Flu, the one that makes him schloop about the house, randomly vomiting up phlegm-coated 360ml of Nido formula. ‘Schloop’ by the way, is the sound made by a small child as they reach up to their nose with their tongue and attempt to vacuum up dripping stalactites of snot. Yes, green snot. Ergo, and all that...

Being feverish and with an Empaped suppository up his rear, Travis turned in early that evening. At 10pm the husband and I call it a night. At 10.30pm, Travis wakes up feeling refreshed and wondering why the hell all the lights are off. And that’s it. The Lionheart is awake, and therefore, so are we.

There’s a special circle of hell that only parents who are regularly awake after midnight know about.

After ZERO sleep, not even a 15-minute snatch, I prop my eyelids up with toothpicks, have my first-thing-in-the-morning ritual chunder (remember, I’m still in the early days of pregnancy) and report to my client’s office in Sandton at 9am where I will spend the rest of the day.

I feel like I’ve been thrown into a cement mixer! My limbs are stiff with exhaustion, my eyes are gritty and bloodshot, and my brain is like a squished bug that flew into a windscreen at high velocity... But I’m a professional, dammit!

Still, I commiserate with the girl who sits across from me. “My toddler woke up at 10.30pm and didn’t go back to sleep after that. I haven’t slept a wink,” I confess. Sympathetic smiles all around...

And then this Neanderthal, this insensitive slice of toe-jam, this crusty turd-muffer of a human being chips in: “No sympathy here. You WANTED to become a mother.”

(If you’re a parent, insert your choice of expletive *here*. If not, feel free to make the ‘cuckoo’ sign by your ear as you read this.)

What a complete wanker!

Let me just set the record straight: while Travis may not have been a planned pregnancy, you can be damn fucking certain that I CHOSE to become a mother. How perceptive of you! I didn’t have to go through with the pregnancy – this is South Africa, after all.

Upon finding out that there was a bun in my oven, I asked: “Can I provide this child with a stable home?” Check. “Can I provide this child with my time?” Check. “Can I provide for this child financially, even though I may well be a single mom?” Oh yes, check. And most importantly: “Do I have not just the resources, but the physical and emotional stamina to raise this child? The parenting skills?” And after quite a bit of soul-searching on that last one, the answer was, “Yes, I’m ready for the challenge.”

By your Neanderthal brand of logic, I don’t get to complain when I have sleepless nights because I was up caring for a sick child. And despite those sleepless nights, the fact that I still report for work so that I can earn the means to feed and clothe that child is no act of heroism. And I guess I don’t get to complain that I’m one of the 3% of mothers whose child was born with a disability or five... I should just suck it up and soldier on, hey?

So here is my dishwater tea of an argument, you childless brute:

Screw you, and the lifetime of lonely, empty years that lie before you too.
That is all.


  1. I would have hurled a stapler at his head (or just hurled on him)!

  2. Good for you... I hope he reads this and feels like a royal ass......

    May he be blessed with multiples.......

  3. Ok , I'll bite. If you were, say, a bus driver and your bus broke down and you had to fix it then do your route that night, you'd bitch like he'll about the bus, even though you 'chose' to be a bs driver. And nobody would tell you to stop whinging.
    To carry the analogy further, if a little wonkily, people need busses just as your client needs the next generation of rugrats to whom to market their products, which they will do as eagerly as salivating pedophiles just as soon as advertisinhmregulations allow. But when it comes to business cutting slack to those people who are providing the next generation that keeps them in bloody business, nada. There is something very wrong with this Picture.

  4. Makes totally sense to me! You should have said it in his face!

  5. Ah yes, ladies... you sense my frustration! I guess it boils down to the old "being a mom is a full-time job" thing (which, I used to smirk at myself before I became a mom myself). I have to admit, raising a kid AND earning an income is enough of a strain without having a smart-ass making quips about it.

  6. OH. EM. EFF. GEE! What a fucking dick! I always quietly curse people like that: wishing upon them years of ugly, miserable, colicky children or, as you said, years of unspoken lonliness and, finally, CRABS.

  7. What an @ss!!!! Just like my Hubby's Director @ work..After we told him "we're" pregnant, the only thing he had to say was "hmmf.. Over population.." I mean .. what a d!ck.
    Hope your lionheart feels better now.

  8. You guys said it, what a dick... *Shew* Glad I got this one off my chest, it had been eating away at me for weeks!

  9. It amazes me how many STUPID ASS IDDIOTS there are...I mean have they not heard of KARMA?

    I have a vision of certain persons - where I take the biggest monster truck and roll over them slowly hearing them cry in agony, whine, wimper...make them take back every single foolish statement they have made, and pleading for a quick end.

    It will bite him and excruiatingly (is that a word) and yes lets hope its CRABS, Chlamydia, or the sort...he doesnt deserve even a colicky baba.

    Hope you both well.


Thanks for sharing, Lionheart readers. ROAR!