A Royal Pain in the A$$

Okay, I've had it. Had it with celebrity pregnancy speculation ("Jennifer Aniston Walked Past a Baby Store Once Last Month: Is She Expecting??!!"); post-pregnancy shockers ("HOT Mama: How Kim Kardashian Lost 42 Pounds in 10 Minutes!"); and, to me, the worst offender: the baby-bump pictures ("LookyLoo, Potential Celebrity Stalkers! Reese Witherspoon's BABY BUMP!"). I'm sick of the expression baby bump for sure (let's see how many times I can use it in this post, shall we?), and the pictures of the baby bumps just seem a little creepy. Maybe it's just me. Oh, it is? You like baby bumps? Fine.

Anyone else sick of hearing about the royal baby? No? Crap. Come on...not even a little bit? No? You were one of the 345,987,482 people waiting with bated breath to learn his name? Sadly, it wasn't one of the super-clever names celebrities have chosen, such as North West. Or Brooklyn, Harper, Romeo, or Cruz. Not Jesse James or Justice. Neither Ptolemy nor Winter. Not Blanket! Not Banjo! Yeah, you get the point. Turns out it was something appropriately staid and regal: George. Zzzzzzzzzz! How much more exciting if the little chap were named something outrageous, like the celebrity spawn above. Prince would have been amusing. Elvis? (You know, "The King"?) Dumbledore? He's pretty badass, and, you know, a WIZARD, so that's sorta close to royalty, isn't it? Kings and wizards were always running around in the olden days fighting dragons, etc.

Perhaps I really am the lone crankypants who's already annoyed at the hubbub surrounding the newest member of the royal family. What's the big deal, anyway? He'll have royal nannies and governesses, and tutors to teach him his maths, and cricket coaches, and servants to bring him his crisps and ginger beer. ("Oi! Fetch me another bag of crisps, you cow! Pip pip!") That's kind of how I imagine it going, anyway.


Meanwhile, I will Keep Cranky and Carry On raising my kids cats. I can hear you scoffing from here. HEY! I'll have you know raising well-mannered, thoughtful, and smart cats is every bit as challenging as raising kids. Especially royal kids. I'm raising them without the help of nannies and tutors and cricket coaches. When my cats look at me imperiously as if to say, "Oi! Fetch me another can of tuna, you cow! Pip pip!" they aren't rudely addressing some servant, they're talking to ME, their doting mommy. Below are four other ways babies are infinitely easier than cats:



"Oi! Fetch us something to eat! At once!"

1. Bathing a wee baby is fun! Look how he giggles and splashes around. Awwww...so sweet, so adorable. Now he's blinking up at you in wonder. Your heart swells. Just try that with your kitty kids. There's a lot less sweet and adorable and a lot more screeching, scratching, and wrestling furiously. Plus, bucking, thrashing, and more scratching. Yeah, not so easy. 



2. Changing a wee baby's diaper. Okay, maybe not the MOST fun of parenting duties (haha, doodies!), but often there's cooing and more blinking-in-wonder business. Not so when dealing with the cats' "business." There's filthy, gritty litter underfoot, horrific odors, the cat who insists on waiting until the box is clean before trotting in and soiling it immediately.

3. Baby clothes. Is there anything more adorable? Yes! There is! Cat clothes! But will my cats wear the sweet little outfits I buy them? NO! There's squirming and mewling and chasing and hiding... Just once I'd like to see one of my precious little kitties wear the jaunty bonnet, cape, and booties I bought them. Sigh. I guess I'll have to look at pictures of my niece and nephew in their adorable little clothes instead.

4. Oopsie! Did that little baby just spit up? Oh, it's all over his bib and my new shirt and in my hair. That's okay! Look at him blinking in wonder. Nothing gross about baby puke spit up (have you noticed it's always spit up, never puke or vomit?)! But the cats? Different story. First there's a fleeting, bug-eyed look of unease. That's swiftly followed by a lurching onto the nearest carpet or piece of furniture. Then the hunched back. And then the heaving and retching. No time for mommy to grab a towel or toss the kitty onto a tile floor. Nope! There's the hairball, surrounded by barely ingested food. Off marches the cat, leaving you scrubbing and cursing in his wake. Plenty gross about hairballs and cat puke.

Friends, I rest my case. As I've so clearly demonstrated with excellent case studies and scientifically based, empirical, ummm, peer-reviewed evidence, raising cats is a royal pain in the a$$. Raising kids, especially with 'round-the-clock help from the cricket coach and the governess? Piece of cake!