This is not for everyone. It’s fucked up. I just wanted to see how far I can push it.
Appalling, horrid, obnoxious.
Yes. Obnoxious he is. The only thing God allowed me to produce was through me and it was Obnoxious. That’s his name if you ask. Not on papers because then I’d be a bad mother. Considering that I never wanted a hideous thing in my entire life. He was only a few days old. The thing wouldn’t stop wailing since I got him. I haven’t fed him or anything because I think its discipline. He’ll learn to shut up. Eventually, he did. For a second I thought he’d died, the idea terrified me, how was I supposed to deal with a dead kid! but then I notice him squeezing his hand harder then loosening it and I realize that I had a slight hope for his death that didn’t come that night. It came the following morning.
You’d understand if you were me, I’m sure. I mean the bills! Wiping a things ass for what, two years? pretending to like their shit drawings and to tell them it’s okay when they break a vase or set my house on fire? Give me a fucking break. And the loose skin and stretch marks. What would he ever possibly do to make it up for me?
The sound of his breathing irritated the very core of me. I wanted it to cease. Honestly, I thought I was dreaming when I pressed the pillow on his tiny smashable head. So simple was it for him to die but so very repugnant for him to squeeze his head out of me.