Dear Parents of Australia,
I ask you one simple question. Did you really actually want children? Seriously? Because it seems a lot like you didn’t.
This week I was given a horrifying glimpse into the dark underbelly of parenting. It’s a world where previously loved and adored children are abandoned by their callous and selfish parents.
Precious and delightful babies are driven to a dark, scary building in the middle of nowhere and dumped.
Like a bag of unwanted kittens.
That’s right. I know all about it, you sick, twisted bastards.
One minute you’re all “Oh I love you so much, you are my moon and stars, how could I have ever survived without you!?” And the next, you’re barely slowing down as you chuck us out of the car, leaving skid marks in the car park of the horror show that is Baby Labour Camp. Or, as you like to call it, “Child Care”.
I like your creative use of the word “care” in the title. Like this haven of despair has anything to do with “care”. More like, “I really just care about my selfish self and want to kick back and do nothing all day while my ‘beloved baby’ toils and slaves with the other convicts”. Don’t get cute with me.
These places are chambers of mental and physical torture. Does no one hear the babies scream!?
All the adults wear maniacal grins in a pathetic attempt to convince us all we’re having SUCH A GOOD TIME. I’m not buying it.
Kids everywhere are hysterically screaming for Mummy.
It’s no use kiddo! Mummy is at lunch with her girlfriends, drinking a box of wine and laughing about how wonderful her life is now that you’re not in it.
The screaming kids aren’t the worst though. More terrifying are the kids who’re smiling. The kids who are pretending everything’s ok. The kids who are pacing the yard or shovelling sand into buckets with dopey, vacant looks on their faces like they’ve just been lobotomised.
Have you noticed the smile never reaches their eyes? They’re not happy, they’re indoctrinated. Like tiny Scientologists blindly following Tom Cruise into the “auditing” room.
I will not go down without a fight.
You will not find me sitting in that sandpit, bucket in hand. Tom Cruise is not getting my mind. I will fight to the end.
I’ve got a pocket full of crayon shivs and I’m not afraid to use them. I will fight for all the kids who haven’t the strength to fight for themselves. No matter what you say, I will maintain the rage.
Little Thud, 16 months