Ten Months To Make. Twelve Months To Fake.

While all you moms-to-be sit dreamy and starry-eyed, ooh’ing and aah’ing over Netflix’s announcement, I sit in my beautiful living room – okay, okay, on my big un-made bed laughing and cattily think, “wait!”

See, it is awesome of them (Netflix) to be so (seemingly) magnanimous, (seemingly) doing their part to promote and support family-life. Great; no question. I am laughing at yall who truly think the thought of spending an entire year, day-in and day-out with a newborn/baby is the stuff that fantasies are made of! And, for those die-hard moms-to-be who insist that unlimited (paid) time with your bundle of joy is just what your fertility doctor has ordered, do yourselves a favor and divorce (not prophesying here; I swear) yourselves from the notion that spouse/baby-daddy should and will feel the same way. Unless he is a bum, there is not a man alive who would be willing to stay at home for an extended period of time with a squealing, non-responsive, albeit possibly cute bump on a log! Hahaha.

Listen you Netflix parents-to-be – get yourselves knocked up, take your paid time off and ignore the guilt you will feel when, after four months of the constant, monotonous, tiring, boring as hell routine, you hire a baby-sitter, magnanimously allow her access to your Netflix account and find yourself a little off the books job for those remaining months of “bonding”…

 

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