As though it wasn't enough that Glen's family brought his 3 year old nephew to visit and I had to deal with hearing "Evan, stop that!" for 3 days, but now there are babies everywhere! There are babies at the grocery store and the dollar store when I go shopping. There are babies at work to take blood from. In the past couple weeks, I've taken blood from two babies. Nearly three, but luckily the lab aide came back from her break before they decided they wanted bloodwork on the second baby that had come into emergency that night. Two babies! One was so new he was still red. And when I say new I mean, like, 2 hours new. Like he popped out of the womb and there I was, waiting to jab him in the heel.
And it’s not as though I really mind taking blood from the babies. Yes, they scream bloody murder, but they’re a lot more tolerable than some adults ‘cause they don’t try to tell you what to do, and they don’t get all overdramatic and act like they’re gonna faint. Yes, they cry, but they just have to sit there and take it, ‘cause they can’t say otherwise. It’s the parents of the baby, who are always there, telling me what to do and gasping when I stick the needle in because I’m hurting their poor defenseless, sick little baby. Oh, what a cruel person I am. But lets face it, moms and dads, you’re baby’s sick, and it’s probably better that I take blood and we find the problem than to not hurt your little bundle of joy because you can’t stand to watch me do it. And you try to send them out of the room, but they don’t want to leave their poor little baby. It’s a frickin’ baby! It’s never gonna know you left the room when I was taking blood, ‘cause it’ll never remember. So just leave the room because your obsessive cooing and telling the baby that it’s gonna be ok is making me sick. And me being sick does not bode well for the fact that I’m about to approach your screaming baby with a very sharp needle.
And just to add insult to injury, I walked into the gym today, a generally baby-free zone (since babies aren't generally concerned with keeping their abs flat and their butts small), and I was assaulted by the crying, whining, gurgling sound of nearly 30 babies! They must have some sort of post-natal class for new mothers where you bring your baby to the gym or something, but there they were. In all their tiny, pink and blue wearing glory. Freakin' babies in my gym! This is usually my oasis. The one place I can go that is baby-free, and I can look like crap and no-one will care, and I can sweat as much as I want and it’s actually a good thing. And they have now invaded my beautiful oasis. And you all know how much I love babies. Stupid little pooping crying machines that they are. And the lady teaching the class was all “okay, now put your baby on your tummy and lets play patty-cake”. Aargh! Stupid babies! I don’t want to hear about all the babies over the speakers when I’m on the stairmaster sweating like a pig. I want to hear the new Fallout Boy song, or a little oldies. Not frickin’ patty cake! Stupid, pooping, peeing, whining, crying, gurgling, smelly babies…
So in conclusion, forces that be, enough with the bloody babies! I’ve had it. I see one more baby in the next week I swear I’m gonna grab it and punt it through the nearest window. And I’ll make sure it’s one of those really sharp, plate glass ones that shatter really well when you break them, too.
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