Op-Ed: My Son Is A Peanut-Head-Ass Little Shit
My greatest joy in life is motherhood. Starting a family gave me purpose and a newfound perspective on life. Before becoming a mother, I was so wrapped up in myself. Since then, I’ve had to be selfless in ways like never before. I love my son, but I low-key hate that peanut-head lil nigga.
I went through 36 hours of perilous labor for this bug-eyed creep. At the time, I thought it was well worth it. I felt a sweetness permeating through him. That was then. He’s no longer a tender babe. He’s a snot-nosed loser and I want him out of my house.
Last week I was making lasagna in the kitchen. He walked up with his big dumb head and told me, “Woman, you need to put some blue cheese in that dish.” Who does he think he is? I said to him, “Don’t call me ‘woman.’ I’m your mother. Plus, blue cheese wouldn’t taste good in this.” Then the bastard fixed his mouth to say, “So, now you’re not a woman? Whatever you say, lady.” I was so angry I couldn’t breathe. He just walked away and hummed the Seinfeld theme song.
My husband doesn’t see it. He’s always playing catch with him or taking him to see a movie. He was hanging by the pool with our son, and the little shit pushed him in. I rushed out and started to reprimand my child. My husband climbed out of the water and said, “That was funny, Sport. You got me. Hey, sweetheart, why are you yelling at him like that? He’s just a kid.”
"Just a kid" my ass. He’s a little demon and I refuse to believe we share DNA. Maybe he gets it from his father’s side. I don’t know why I married his dad. The big dope just shook off the water like a dog and went about his day. He tracked water all through the house; slack-jawed fuck that he is.
At least my son’s teacher understands where I’m coming from. I got called into the school for the fourth time this year. This time, he took a beret out of a girl’s hair, licked it, then put it back in her hair. Like, what? Man, I'm tired of this shit.
“He told me that he marks all of his women. This kind of behavior is unacceptable for the classroom or anywhere else,” said Miss Rose, my son’s teacher.
“You’re singing my song, sister," I said. "I think he’s a complete creep and he’ll be dealt with handily."
She recommended that I have a nice conversation with him. Fuck a nice conversation. I chose to deal with him my way.
I sent him to bed without dinner for three nights in a row. Twice I caught him sneaking downstairs for fistfuls of parmesan cheese. I hate this child. After that, I tried to go back to sleep. I stared at the ceiling fan for about an hour. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw my son standing in the doorway. “Mother, I simply detest you. That is all.” Likewise, sonny boy.
In the morning, I was gone. I’m never looking back.
