Why? on Wednesday - Celebrity Edition

I was really stressing out because I haven't really been inspired to write anything lately.  But I was determined that today I was going to post SOMETHING so I opened up the interwebs and I was blessed when THIS shit graced my home page...

"Actress and vegan diet enthusiast Alicia Silverstone has a strange way of feeding her 11-month-old son Bear Blu. In a video posted on her healthy living website thekindlife.com, Silverstone chews a bite of food and then passes it straight into her little boy's mouth mama-bird style."

When I saw the headline, I had a moment of thinking "Wow, that kid is NEVER going to live that down. Elementary school is  going to be difficult for him."

Then I saw his fucking name. 

BEAR BLU?  BEAR MOTHERFUCKING BLU, ALICIA SILVERSTONE!!! 

Clearly she hates her kid.

As if it isn't bad enough that she named him BEAR fucking BLU, she POSTS A FUCKING VIDEO of her feeding him like a fucking bird. 

I am not offended that feeding her kid her chewed up food is kind of bizarre and gross (because CLEARLY it is).  I mean, I let my kid eat chicken nuggets and hot dogs and really, when you know where that shit comes from it's kind of just as gross. 

And before you go yelling at me for my ignorance, YES! I do realize that before blenders and baby food, mothers did this shit all the time.  And that tribal mothers and mothers in less "western" parts of the world do this all the time.  But seriously, Alicia.  SERIOUSLY...Does he have to fish it out of your mouth with his tongue?  Couldn't you use your fingers or a pair of tongs or something?

What really bothers me is that celebrity parents have no concept that when they make their personal random proclivities public (and SERIOUSLY, what IS it with the ridiculous names) they give their kids just ONE MORE THING that their mean classmates will be able to dig up and torture them with.

I just don't understand what the fuck is it with celebrity parents who purposely set their kids up for a disastrous life of mental illness.  I mean, seriously.  Children of celebrity parents tend to have the deck stacked against them sanity-wise WITHOUT making out with their mothers in a video posted on the internet.

Please, Alicia Silversone.  Think about your son's future. It's fine if you want to practice "alternative parenting techniques" and emulate some !Kung bush mother.  FINE.  Keep it to yourself and your (future serial killer) son.  But for the love of GOD, change his fucking name and stop posting your freaky hippie parenting techniques all over the interwebs for his friends to usen someday as ammunition to bully him into snorting a brick of crack and killing a hooker. 

Unless, of course you are purposely trying to create a superhero (because they all haven horrible traumatic events in their childhoods), and in that case, YOU'RE DOING IT RIGHT.

Sorry is (apparently) the Hardest Word to Say

Ben is really bad at apologizing.  It isn't that he is a bad person. He tries really hard to do the right thing and I don't know that he has EVER intentionally hurt anyone.  I don't even think he has it in him.  But he just doesn't think he is ever wrong (or at least he can't admit when he is).  It doesn't matter how glaringly obvious the emotional injury is or how many times I try to explain it, he just doesn't get that even though it wouldn't bother him, it really bothers me.  So when he just gives in and apologizes just to shut me up (usually while rolling his eyes and saying "there, you happy now?'), we all know that it was only issued out of annoyance and/or pity.

Imagine the example this sets for a 4 year old.

A couple of days ago, Lila was climbing on/beating up Ben on the couch (as usual) and he moved the wrong way and accidentally pulled her hair (or hit her with an elbow, or something).  She started crying and was very upset because she thought he had done it on purpose. 

As mothers, we all know that there is no use in trying to explain to a 4 year old that it was not done on purpose and that there is no reason to be upset unless you really want to drag the tears out for 45 minutes.  It's best just to say sorry and give a kiss to make it better and move on with your day.

It isn't a game.

Daddy doesn't see it this way.  He simply told her to stop.  That she wasn't really hurt.  You can imagine how this went over.  Naturally, she cried even harder.

"Say you're sorry, Daddy."  I told him.  "That's what you do when you hurt someone."

You might want to sit down when I tell you his response.

"I didn't hurt her.  She did it herself.  What should I apologize for?"

Go ahead.  Let that sink in for a minute.

You should note that THESE boys are about
8 years old.

Obviously shocked that he would even need to be told to apologize, let alone debate the issue with me, I went on.  "Ben, she needs to know that when you hurt someone, the right thing to do is apologize.  You don't claim you didn't do it.  You don't tell them to get over it.  YOU SAY YOU'RE SORRY.  BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT PEOPLE DO WHEN THEY HURT SOMEONE WHETHER THEY MEAN IT OR NOT...."

"Yeah, but I didn't do anything.  She did it."  I suddenly realized that I am teaching morality to not one, but TWO children.

"Ben," I said. "When she accidentally knocks someone over in school even if they bump into HER, should she turn to them and say 'I didn't do anything.  I don't know what to tell you,' or should she instinctively say, 'Sorry, let me help you up?'"

Eyes rolling, and with a dramatic sigh that I mostly recognize from my 4 year old drama queen, he belts out, "FINE!  Sorry."

This is what he was really saying.

Lila continued to cry.

"She isn't even REALLY crying!" REALLY BEN???  This is what you are going with?  "She is only making a big deal of this because YOU are."

"Um...No.  If you had just apologized and rubbed her head where it hurt this would have been over, but since you are acting like a bratty child, she still feels bad because you clearly don't care that you hurt her."

"I DIDN'T HURT HER!!!!" He is still sticking to his story.  "Plus, I just said I was sorry and she's still crying."

What the hell kind of person did I get involved with?  Am I going to find the bodies of mutilated squirrels in the basement?  What kind of animal doesn't just try to make their 4 year old feel better?

This song is stuck in my head now.

Then I realized that this wasn't about him and her.  It was about me and him.

"Ben, you need to realize that you are showing her how to treat people.  If you don't want her to be a total asshole when she gets older, you need to do a better job of not showing her what an asshole acts like."

At this I went over to Lila and tried to change the subject.

He walked out of the room pissed off. 

We haven't talked about it since.

Lila's eating disorder

"MY BELLY'S FULL!!!"

I am tired of doing dinner time with my kid. If I have her tell me her belly is full after 3 bites of lettuce one more time I am going to lose it.

I am seriously tired of it.

I am tired of telling her to stop playing and start eating.  I am tired of listening to her cry because I wouldn't make her chicken nuggets or mac and cheese because those are the only two things she is willing to eat.  I am tired of trying to get her to sit still for 5 minutes and eat and I am tired of the whining and crying about it.  I am tired of her telling me she's full and her belly hurts only to have her ask for ice cream or cake or a snack 15 minutes later.  I am tired of explaining OVER AND OVER that if she's got room for ice cream, she has room for carrots (or chicken or mashed potatoes or whatever).



Lila ALWAYS has room for dessert. 



I am tired of not being able to have a conversation with Ben at the table without Lila banging things or throwing something or getting out of her seat 200 times.

Trust me when I say that the whole "fine, go to bed without dinner" thing does not work.  She says that's fine, gets down and plays, and then cries for the next 4 hours because she is hungry. Then she is awake every 2 hours through the night.  The last time she went to school and told her teacher that I wouldn't feed her when she was starving.  I am even less willing to deal with that bullshit.

I refuse to be one of those parents who lets their kids have lax table manners and I truly believe that dinner time is important family time.  My parents say that I behaved at the table when I was her age.  I ate whatever my mother put in front of me (with a few exceptions) and I never expected dessert every night. 

I want to just stop feeding her altogether for a week.  Then see how she does when I say, "let's sit down and eat, shall we?" I bet that she'd be ready to sit and eat then.  

I don't bribe her with desserts.  She always brings it up.  I have stopped telling her "if you eat your dinner" and started saying "we don't have dessert so this is what you have to eat."  She cries EVERY SINGLE TIME.  I give her tiny portions and she still won't eat them.  In fact, I would argue that the less I put on her plate, the less she actually eats.

WHAT THE HELL DID I DO WRONG HERE???  Am I breeding a kid who is a shoe-in for an eating disorder later?  Should I just take her to the shrink now and get that inevitable process started?  And when did mothers start worrying so much about what and how much their kids ate?  I am pretty sure my mother didn't give a shit if I ate or not.

I'm not ready.

(Or Lila finds a new way to make Mommy insane)


"Lila, it's time for school.  You have to get up."
I'm not ready.
"Lila you have to eat some breakfast.  We need to get going."
I'm not ready.
"It's time to get dressed.  Come on.  We need to go in ten minutes."
I'm not ready.

"You have five minutes and then it will be time to go to the doctor."
I'm not ready.
"Can you get ready?"
I'm not ready to get ready.
"In five minutes you need to be ready."
I don't think I will be ready.

"Lila, it's time for dinner. Wash your hands."
I'm not ready.
"I need you to help me set the table."
I'm not ready.
"Well, it is time NOW so ready or not, I need you help me."
I'm not ready NOW.

"Lila, look at the clock.  In 5 minutes it's time for a bath."
I'm not ready.
"Right.  When the clock says 7:15 you need to be ready."
I'm not ready.
"Ok.  That's why I am telling you to watch the clock."
I'm not ready to watch the clock.
"Ok.  Well you have 5 minutes."
I won't be ready.

"We need to get your pajamas on and get ready for bed."
I'm not ready.
"ok.  Well, We have to do things we aren't ready for sometimes."
I'm not ready.
"Lila, if you don't get your pajamas on you don't get a bedtime snack."
I WANT MY SNACK RIGHT NOW!!!
"Well, I'm not ready."

Another Confession about Motherhood

As I sit here I am sweating and hyperventilating and having all the typical fight or flight panic symptoms. 

Am I being stalked by a wild animal?  You could say that.

Am I about to be attacked by some crazed lunatic in the middle of the night?  Maybe.

Am I simply underconfident and know I am going to have my will and my patience tested to the point of breaking?  Yes.  For sure.

What is it that is causing me such distress?  I am alone all weekend with my three-year-old.

For most of you this is probably where you roll your eyes and click over to TMZ or some youtube video of a cat getting its little head stuck in a glass while trying to get a drop of milk (I saw it.  It's cute, right?).  Because I know that for many of you who are single mothers or full time stay at home moms, this is nothing you don't do all the time.

But for me, it terrifies me to no end.

Ben had to fly out to Arizona to take care of some things that were left undone when we moved back here.  IT was a last-minute thing,  so I only had a couple of days to prepare myself for the hell that would unfold when Lila got bored/annoyed/angry/her usual self with me and started to work my last nerve. I did not have ample time to work out a plan as to what I would do instead of just calling in The Big Guns (also known as "Daddy") to take over for a little while so that I didn't have a nervous breakdown.

Me after the FIRST
12 hours of continuous
whining.

I am afraid of a three year old. Not that I would ever let her in on that.  OHHHH No!  This is something I keep on the inside while I go about my day making sure we both eat and sleep and poop and keep ourselves in one piece.

Because I KNOW that I am the adult.  I know that I am in charge.  I know that we will be fine.  There is really honestly not a doubt in my mind that we will both survive this 4 day MOMMY-FEST relatively unharmed and only minimally emotionally drained.  And yet, the IDEA of not having backup around the house fills me with nothing short of complete and absolute dread.

Am I the only mother who feels this way?  Should I be committed?  Is it wrong that I depend so heavily on another person to keep the peace around here?  Do I need a body guard?

Ancient History: 5 B.C.

I was sitting in a McDonald's with Lila the other day and overheard a woman talking about the good old days.  Back in B.C.  Before Children.

Let's take a little stroll through history, shall we?

All that's left of my life Before Children

5 years B.C. I could wake up on Sunday morning and have the whole day in front of me.  The house would be quiet and the newspaper would be waiting for me.  I would leisurely drink my coffee and peruse the paper and carefully weigh all the possibilities for the day ahead.  Those days are gone.

In 5 B.C. I could get a phone call at 7pm on a Friday and be out the door in half an hour for a night on the town where I dressed sexy and got hit on all night by various attractive men offering to buy me drinks in the hopes that I would go home with them.  That's over too.

That's me on the left in blue at a rave in 2001

In 5 B.C. if I was sick, I stayed in bed all day.  Sometimes a friend or even my mom would come over to take care of me.  I could watch movies or read or just sleep.  Not so much anymore.

In 5 B.C. I worked to buy myself nice clothes, shoes, a car, and to support my habit of buying more books than I could read.  I worked so that I could go out and eat with friends or offer to pay on dates.  I always had money left over after paying my bills even though it was just me and no roommates.  So much for that.

Me in my slutty clothes

In 5 B.C. I lived alone.  The only mess to clean up was mine (and MiMi, my cat's).  I hardly cooked because it's no fun to cook for yourself and so I ate a lot more fast food, and yet never managed to gain any weight.

In 5 B.C. I had perfect boobs, a flat stomach and minimal cellulite.  I showed off my body and if I chose to I could even sleep around if the mood struck me.  Just because I was a hot young thing.  I'm not anymore.

Me at dawn. I was 22 here.

Today, Sunday mornings are loud and my day is left in her hands.  It's impossible to have spontaneous plans pop up because I don't have a spur-of-the-moment babysitter and even if I did, I am so exhausted by the end of the day that I rarely stay up past 9pm.  If I'm sick, too bad.  Mom's don't get to call in sick.  I work to buy my kid nice things.  So that she can leave them all over the house for me to clean up.  Today my boobs are heading south, my ass is expanding to unclaimed frontiers and there is a roundness to me that I can barely identify.  It isn't pretty or sexy and I cannot remember the last time I thought about sex.

It's not that there aren't good points,  Lila is the joy of my life in so many ways.  But seriously, when you put it on paper it really makes me yearn for the good old ancient days of B.C.

 

(All photos were the result of a Bing Search and thumbnails.  But the captions are mine)

Parenting Fail?

Am I a terrible mom?  I try to stay on top of things.  I want my kid to eat well and get enough sleep and say please and thank you.  I want her to be smart and capable and independent and well-behaved.  And so far I have failed at all but the part about her being smart (assed) and independednt (3 going on 13). 

In trying to come to terms with just how to handle this problem of Lila being the sassiest little bitch on earth (yeah, I said it), the only thing I can come up with is that I am just too fucking tired to discipline her EVERY SINGLE TIME (which would literally be about 3 times per minute) that she does something that pisses me off. 

My kid yells at me.  She throws things and she refuses to eat.  Then she throws a huge asshole fit about the fact that she doesn't get any snacks because she refused to eat what I put in front of her (No, I don't give in and she still does not GET it). She refuses to poop on the toilet still and when I refused to buy any more pull ups, she held it for 4 days until it was so painful for her (even with the laxative) that she will probably never want to shit on the toilet again (thanks to the doctor for that award-winning advice).  She acts like an animal when we go to a store.  She manipulates me by crying and telling me she hates me (remind you, she is not a teenager - she's 3). 

In between the 3 minute hugs and the 2 and a half moments of happiness is all this SHIT.

I am at my wits end.  And all I can do is blog about it. 

Fucking kid.

Day 7 and also a little rant

When I was growing up I had a friend (who we’ll call Britney to protect her identity and in case she is reading my blog) who refused to eat anything that wasn’t name brand. I would pull out the grocery store brand “W” cola and she would turn her nose up and tell me she’d just have water. She told me over and over how much better REAL Pop Tarts were compared to the generic ones that my mother bought and faked illness when my mother dared to offer her GENERIC PEANUT BUTTER sandwiches for lunch. But I liked Britney and we were friends even though I never owned name-brand sneakers or drank REAL Minute Maid orange juice. Somehow though, this ALWAYS made me feel inferior.

An artist's rendition of
my friend "Britney" as I
remember her.

Perhaps this is why I have refused to jump on the “organic foods” bandwagon. As far as I can tell, there is no point is serving Lila organic breakfast cereal, organic frozen dinners, organic cookies, organic yogurt, organic popcorn or pretty much any snack junk food that is labeled as organic.

First off, let me say that for this kind of stuff, the fact that it’s processed is far worse for her than the fact that it’s not organic. Processed foods have all the good stuff taken out and a bunch of other stuff put back in. These are not actually FOOD as people a hundred years ago would understand it, but more like “foodstuffs”, which is like food but with less actual nutrition involved. If Lila wants this stuff, (and because I want to choose my battles because she is a total fucking warrior who will win) she eats the generic stuff. And usually there is no generic organic stuff.

The second thing though, is more rooted in the mentality that I experienced as a kid. I don’t know if I believe that “organic” is necessarily any better quality than “name brand” is. I know there are a bunch of you out there who want to explain to me about chemicals and pesticides and nitrates and all kinds of other things, but truly, that was the same kind of argument the name brand girl gave me, telling me that the factories that make name-brand foods are cleaner and pass a higher standard than their generic counterparts.

Here’s the thing. I am worried that this is going to be a problem when Lila gets older and has her little friends over, just like it was to me. There are so many parents out there who would never let a “regular” apple touch their children’s lips and I worry that someday Lila will feel the same kind of inferiority that I did at the fact that her mom doesn’t buy into the bullshit marketing campaigns and that honestly, generic regular popcorn slathered in butter and salt is just as bad for you as name-brand organic popcorn slathered in hormone free butter and sea salt.

For the big stuff, I am on board. I like grass-fed meat better, I am all for not giving my kid hormone-filled milk and I truly think organic produce tastes better. But if it comes from a package and has a shelf-life of more than a couple of months, I just don’t buy it. And I just won’t BUY it.

.........................
30 Days of Books Day 7
A book that is hard to read

This could be taken two ways.  But my selection for this one made me have to stop because it was seriously disgusting me, which I am sure is NOT the intention of the author:

First off, I want to let you know that I watched the movie.  As bizarre and disturbing as the movie was, it was NO WHERE NEAR as fucked up as the book. It is NOT easy to upset my sensibilities but Bret Easton Ellis managed to completely destroy them.  I squirmed and gagged and finally gave up because it was so graphic and twisted that I wanted to slit my own throat. 

The writing is beautiful though and in some parts I was actually touched.  Like this passage:

"My personality is sketchy and unformed, my heartlessness goes deep and is persistent. My conscience, my pity, my hopes disappeared a long time ago if they ever did exist. There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it. I have no surpassed. I still, though, hold on to one single bleak truth: no one is safe, nothing is redeemed"

But Ellis's ability to capture this character's total depersonalization was too much for me. 

Lila ruins everything

They say that imitation is the highest form of flattery.  Tell that to any mother of a preschooler and she'll tell you that it actually destroys worlds.

Every mom wants to share the things she loves with her children.  For example, a favorite song or book or movie. 

I used to love Joan Jett.  I have seen her in concert a few times and always thought of "I Love Rock and Roll" as the summation of my childhood (I was a strange kid).

Lila also loves that song.  In fact, she loves it so much that when I played the CD one time while driving her to the sitter, she "rocked out" through the whole song, then merrily shouted, "AGAIN!"  By the third time, she was singing along to the chorus and "OOOOOW"-ing in that high-pitched voice of hers.  Luckily, it only took 3 times to get where we were going.

But it didn't stop there.  She needed it every time we got into the car.  Some time around the 218th time in a row I heard it (and nothing else) while driving, I told her that I forgot the disc in the house.  A full-on heartbreak ensued and she cried the entire trip to the grocery store and back.  And even though I could have simply put it on because I was obviously lying, I didn't want her to know I was lying and so instead I endured her tears and whining.

Needless to say, I cringe when I hear it now. 

She did the same to my favorite color, which used to be purple.  Lila LOVES purple.  And after painting her room purple, and getting her purple sheets, a purple rug, purple curtains, a purple bookcase and pretty much any toy that contains purple in it, she started to insist on wearing something purple every single day.  We have A LOT of purple socks and underwear and she would only wear one pair of shoes (can you guess what they look like) every day if I would let her.

She has done this with Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, which was my favorite Disney movie.  I hate it now.  This happened with Tom and Jerry cartoons.  It happened with a children's book I kept around BEFORE I EVER EVEN THOUGHT I MIGHT HAVE A KID, Ferdinand the Bull, which Lila wore out in a matter of days.  It happens with foods, with games (I was thrilled the FIRST time she wanted to play Candyland.  The 7,586th time?  Not so much.). 

Because preschoolers are nothing if not obsessive.



(Image from  http://www.last.fm/music/Joan+Jett/+images/5113011)

What can Super Nanny do for you?

You know those friends that you know online and think you would be best friends with in real life but you've never actually met?  Well, Lara is one of those friends. 

She is child-free but as you will see has some serious issues with Super Nanny and small children.  I begged her to write me a post for my blog and I LOVED this and laughed hysterically and I hope you will to.

***NOTE:  In her original writing, she referred to the child many times as "it".  I took the liberty of changing that to "he" or "she" randomly even though it was funnier the other way because it reminded me too much of having a malfunctioning robot.

So here it is:

...................................................

I don't have kids. I hardly see them. I go to bed at 5am. I am just waking up when you are picking them up from school. Let that sink in for a minute….

My diet is mostly bourbon, I play guitar six hours a day, and get angry when I can’t find my slutty-shoes.

I'm not bragging, though. My life kinda sucks. I found out in my late 20's that I have an auto-immune disorder (it’s genetic, not Super-AIDS). The label on my meds tells me that it "may cause flipper-limbs in fetal mice". I might be able to breed, but it seems risky and mean-spirited given the information I have. Mostly, I am just incredibly poor. I am like Liz Lemon without the high profile tv job. Or any job. For better or worse, the baby-ship has sailed. So why should you listen to me?

Because I am fucking addicted to Super Nanny.

As with everything I do, my tv habits are compulsive. It started with Ghost Hunters. (I'm reassured when they don't find ghosts. It makes me feel safe in basements.) Then came Destination Truth and Paranormal State (are they really still in college?). Having run out of para-normal reality TV, I started watching mega-normal reality TV, mainly Biggest Loser.

Then I panicked. I ran out of shitty reality shows to watch. I grudgingly followed Hulu's recommendation to watch Super Nanny.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

It was like mother-fucking Shark Week! World's Deadliest Trainwrecks! Alligator vs. Everything! The amount of shrieking, vomiting, and pool-table punching was worse than every episode of Jersey Shore combined. And these are average families with average toddlers!

I guess I'm not around kids enough to realize that this is normal, typical, kid behavior. My ovaries pretty much shriveled up and died after a half-episode.

Here's what I've incredulously learned from Super Nanny:

1. Kids are advanced manipulators by age 3. "I'll apologize for punching you in exchange for snacks." It's like Lindsay Lohan saying she'll leave jail in exchange for drugs. For real?

2. Your kid wants to control your house. Who doesn't love democracy? Well, three-year-olds, that’s who. The would-be tyrant is 3 feet tall and does not understand mechanics, fire, traffic, or nutrition, and can’t read. I would say he does not get an equal vote.

3. Kids are not idiots. While they lack information about mechanics and traffic, they are still very smart. Too smart…and sneaky. "This food is so yucky I puked. I’m sick" Really? The hidden camera shows the little shit stealing Otter Pops a half hour later. He's not sick. He's not a picky eater. He's not suffering from pre-school anorexia. He knows he can help himself to the freezer as soon as your back is turned, so he makes a show out of barfing casserole!

4. Some parents are unbelievably ghetto. One mom told her kid he "had to go into the mall because kidnappers were waiting in the parking lot." Remember points 1 through 3? They're not dumb; they know when you are lying. This just makes them lose respect and abuse you even more. Acting ghetto just proves they're smarter than you. Now they have a superiority complex!

5. Most parents want their kids to be happy. At all times. It seems obvious since I don't have any heart-strings to pull, no fondness for the patter of little feet; that I am not your kid's friend. I am an adult, and if I am out jogging and I see your kids fucking around on a thinly frozen lake, I will yell at them and tell them to knock that shit off. And then I will continue on, confident I did the right thing. I will be like "I kept that little jerk from drowning to an icy death. He should thank me if he lives to adulthood." I will not hug them or wonder if their feelings got hurt, or if they hate me. But you like your kid. You LOVE your kid. You will always remember your kid as a confused 1 year old in a bunny costume. You get sad when you have to set boundaries; who has the heart to yell at someone in a bunny costume?

This bitch will tell you what the fuck is what.

If there is one thing that anyone can learn from 22 hours of Super Nanny, it's this:

Don't fear discipline. You are not your kid's friend. You are an educator and protector. You have the wisdom to know that pouring ketchup on yourself and shitting your pants at Denny's is not the path to a successful life.

Next time your kid is sadly howling and spitting insults at you, put them in timeout and tune that shit out, and don't feel sad. I know she was a cuddly baby in a cute bear onesie just a few months ago, but right now she is an asshole who is being punished for kicking the kitty in the face.

And when they start acting up, think of them as mini-19 year olds and ask yourself if you'd accept this shit from your college roommate. Because a). your kid will soon be someone's college roommate, and b). they'll still be telling housemates that their cooking is gross and sobbing uncontrollably whilst demanding to sleep in their beds. We all know that guy.

And learn how to do the proper Super Nanny Timeout. I hear that shit is golden.

Lara watches so much reality TV because she stays up late crafting. She has a gorgeous Etsy site called SPIXI  filled with fantastic little items at unreasonably great prices.  Use coupon code MOTHERHOODSUCKS at check-out for 20% off your order.

Don't say you weren't warned.

Today I read a fantastic post from a fellow blogger about how they never tell you the truth about parenting and how it's partially a matter of forgetting and partially the fact that we're sort of sworn to secrecy about the truth.  And I walked around today thinking about this and realized that I WAS actually told on several occasions.  But not directly. 

(Here is a link to the post)

So for all you parents to be and new parents out there (and those of us who are still working out all the details), I am going to provide this little handy interpretation of what was told to me, and what I now realize they meant when they said it.

1.  Motherhood is the hardest job in the world.

The Truth:
It is the WORST job in the world.  I would be lying if I said that I know what it's like to be a worker at a third world sweatshop, but I suspect it is a lot like being a new mother.  First off, the hours will kill you.  You are basically ALWAYS on call, even when you are sleeping. And then for the first few years you are lucky if you get to sleep for more than 3 or 4 hours at a time.  There are NO BREAKS.  You do not get a lunch break where you can take off for an hour and run errands, you do not get to go to the bathroom (at least not by yourself) and you do not get to sit down without having someone scream at you.  There is no vacation or sick leave and the pay is pretty much nonexistent. 

2.  Colic is really awful but it does end.

The Truth:
It ends.  But while it is happening, COLIC IS THE WORST THING YOU WILL EVER EXPERIENCE.  It seems like it is going to go on forever and  you are trapped with this little helpless being who you can do absolutely NOTHING to make stop screaming at you.  And before the colic ends, you will realize that you are the worst parent that has ever walked the face of the earth because your only job at this point is to keep the little one alive and comfortable and you become convinced that you cannot manage to do this.  Colic will make you want to die.  Colic will make you realize that those posters all over the hospital and the reminders everywhere about how you are not supposed to shake your baby are serious business.  Because there will be at least one moment where you think, "now I understand why people shake babies".

3.  Having a baby will fundamentally change you.

The Truth:
Yes.  Completely.  But not in the ways you think.  You know that you will love this little one in a way that you never imagined (something else they tell you that is only half true) but you will no longer be able to watch movies that involve kidnapped children without becoming EXTREMELY uneasy.  You will want to avoid any books or episodes of CSI where awful things happen to children and suddenly all those jokes about punching babies and kiddie porn will not seem funny (yes, I used to have that kind of sense of humor).  Real actual news stories about children who are hurt or taken will terrify you and you will need to repeatedly check on them while they sleep at night. 

You will tell anyone who will listen about your child's poop.  There will be at least one hilarious poop story that every friend and relative hears at least once.  You will know all the words to every song Dora the Explorer (or your kid's hero of choice) has ever sung.  You will allow things that you always said you wouldn't (sure, let's have Fruit Loops for dinner).  You will beg your child to eat.  You will bribe them to behave in public even though you hate that kind of thing.   People who don't have children will tell you that it's all terrible and bad parenting and that they will NEVER be "that parent" but trust me, they will.

4. All kids throw fits.  All kids aggravate their parents.  It's how they learn limits.

The Truth:
There will be moments where you completely understand why wild animals eat their children.  You will have moments of sheer anger where you have to force yourself to walk away because if you stay in the same room with your child, you will end up hurting them.  This does not make you a bad parent (actually staying put and hurting them makes you a bad parent).  You will be amazed at the manipulative ability of a three year old, who has the ability to read your weaknesses better than any con artist ever could.  And you will fear that you are going insane because you will seriously consider the pros and cons of checking yourself into a mental institution "for the vacation".

You will have days where you really don't LIKE your child.  It does not make you a bad parent. On at least on occasion (and probably on many), you will think, if not actually say this:

5. They don't call it "the terrible two's" for nothing.

Truth:
My kid went through this phase from about 18 months until she turned 3. Then she was a normal kid who could behave for about 3 months, then came this bizarro 3 and 1/2 year old thing.  Most of the parents I talk to tell me that 3 is WAY worse than 2.  And it is.  The terrible twos are defined by the word "no".  They will tell you NO for everything, even if they mean YES, and then they will get mad at you when you think they meant NO because they said it.  The terrible two's want things to be just so.  They get frustrated and throw fits if the ketchup isn't on the right spot on their plate.  

But three and a half is KILLING ME.  Suddenly no matter is too small for a full blown, screaming, yelling tantrum.  Bath time = tantrum.  Bedtime = tantrum.  Getting dressed = tantrum.  Time for dinner = tantrum.  It isn't the big things that bring on the fits.  It's the regular routine things that you do at the same time EVERY SINGLE DAY.  Why bath time after dinner and bedtime after bath is always a huge ambush to my child, I will never know.  But every moment of every day seems like a terrible surprise to her. 

6. Listen to your gut.  You know your child best.

Truth:
Don't read every parenting book you can get your hands on because every one will tell you something different. Parenting "experts" seem to never have their own children at home.  Instead, you should call your mommy friends and/or relatives who have experience with kids.  When I listened to my gut, I thought Lila was just bright red because she was hot.  She had a cold or something and she should just sleep it off.  My mother told me that it didn't seem right and encouraged me to call the doctor and it turned out she had Scarlet Fever and a nasty strep infection.   


7. Your child will want to watch the same movie/listen to the same song/read the same story over and over and o
over.  It's perfectly normal.

Truth:
You will come to want to murder the creators of Dora the Explorer and you will fantasize that all the Disney Princesses (or whatever the boy equivalent is) are being maimed, tortured and executed.  If you are LUCKY, your kid will take to a movie, song, or character that you LOVED as a child and you will encourage this because you think it will be more tolerable.  But after the first 4,000 times, you will hate your childhood and everything you associated with that memory because your child will have worn it out beyond imagination.  Mine actually made me hate Joan Jett.

8. Motherhood is the most rewarding job in the world.

Truth:
This is totally true.  You will likely never be as proud of anything in your life as you are when someone tells you how smart/beautiful/well-behaved/creative/talented/incredible your kid is.  Seriously.  Your kid will do things that make  you want to pull your hair out.  They will make you scream into pillows until your throat hurts.  They will disappoint you and make you question your worth as a person.  But there are those moments where you look at them and your soul swells with happiness and you think, "I made that!"

Sometimes I hate her...but I just don't get this.

My friend forwarded me a video of a woman on the Today Show who is talking about making the decision to be a non-custodial parent to her children. On the one hand this sounds VERY appealing. In many custody arrangements, one parent only sees the children on the weekend or for part of the time, but that parent is almost always the father.

(go here to see the video)

I admit, I have had daydreams (bordering on orgasmic fantasies, actually) of having stretches of days alone when I could nap and eat what and when I wanted and have my house clean for more than 20 minute stretches. But as I read this, at first I found myself thinking, "these women are selfish assholes!" But I stopped myself realizing that I was feeling something else.  Something that seemed...very...NOT LIKE ME.  And then it struck me that I have NO DESIRE to really do this.

(check out this article that made me need to write this post)

I have a friend who did this several years ago. The boys father was simply more stable in his life, had a better job, a house, an extended family to help. She knew her son would be in good hands. She moved out of state and has a good relationship with her son, visiting for holidays and long weekends and he spends school breaks with her. I find it hard to talk to her about it because I am afraid that my questions will come off as judgments and in a way I simply DO NOT UNDERSTAND how you can come to this decision.

I wonder now if it isn't more my idea of what a mother is SUPPOSED to do that makes this all seem so insane to me. The only way I can imagine myself truly spending less than MOST of my time raising my child would be if I had some illness (like being a psychopathic killer?) that had me hospitalized or incapacitated.

And then I think, "Fuck this guilt shit.  FATHERS have always done this!"  As I mentioned before, depending on the living situations and distances, many custody agreements give fathers every OTHER weekend and holidays.  No one thinks they're selfish assholes for agreeing to this arrangement!  No one even questions it!  WHY IS IT OKAY TO ME FOR FATHERS TO BE SO MUCH LESS ATTACHED? Is it possible that my entire way of looking at the title of "MOTHER" is the reason that I think it sucks so much?


No. Sometimes it just sucks.

A strange kind of deprivation

I deprive myself of basic things that most people don’t think twice about. I tell myself that I deprive myself because money is tight. Or it just isn’t necessary. But I would LOVE to stop wearing maternity pants and have some clothes that fit me. Or Bras, or moisturizer that promises beautiful skin or makeup that hides my dark undereye circles. These are not necessarily luxuries. I mean, if I lived in the slums in South America, I would hardly be worried about these things, but they are not the same as $500 shoes or a $10,000 piece of jewelry.  But then I think they kind of are.

  

Every day I choose between deprivation and indulgence. I seem to choose indulgence only when the reward is fleeting, like having a $15 lunch. If I told Ben that I needed some cash for bras that fit my post-baby boobs, he would surly help me out. But I would rather not ask him, and then spend the rest of my day feeling bitter that I can’t go out and get them. Not being fully exposed, nipples and all, every time the kid yanks on my neckline is not really something that I should feel is an indulgence. As that one comedian said “How can ‘instantly improve vision’ not be at the top of your priorities?” And yet, it isn’t. So obviously silly and yet so true. It just isn’t.

It is a strange “neurotic deprivation” and I want to know why I do it.

When I was younger my mother never needed anything fancy. She used generic maxi pads. She used whatever lotion happened to be in the house. She bought pantyhose and earrings at the dollar store. She was not a fancy woman. And yet, every so often, I would hear her arguing with my father and saying things like “Can’t I just have anything nice?...Don’t I deserve something special once in a while?”

I never understood this. We were not poverty stricken. Money was tight but we always had a roof and food and enough to have fun outings. My mother worked and would take me shopping when she got paid and spend ridiculous amounts of money on clothes and toys that would only see daylight once or twice.

I used to call her “the martyr”- always making sacrifices just so that she could complain about them and have everyone feel that she was a Goddamned hero. It made me crazy. I used to drag her into the Women’s clothing sections of fancy department stores and try to force her to spend $30 on a shirt. But she acted just as happy with a $10 one from Kmart….most of the time…

But then there would be a stressful day or my dad would forget Mother’s Day (again) and my mother would get hysterical and I would see that she felt deprived. True, it was often her choice to live like that. In the moment, she felt that she would rather take care of us than take care of herself. But wasn’t she entitled to her own care? If she always gave up nice stuff so that we could have things, who was giving things up for her?

But in truth, it’s deeper than this. I could see it all the time. She walked around like she didn’t deserve to have nice things. Because it was us or her. And we always won. But then she somehow knew that she did. She felt like she was missing out. All the time. She didn’t take care of herself because she had no pride in herself, she showed her pride through me. She loved me more than herself. And even more so she just didn’t give herself things. My Dad wasn’t going to do it. Why didn’t she realize this sooner? Why did she sit around waiting for someone to do it for her?

Is this the curse of motherhood for me?

Am I just doing what I think “being a mom” is all about? Deprivation, resentment and finally reaching a breaking point? Do I think I have to prove my love by not caring about myself? Or is it more than this even?

Because I think it is.

Book burning party at my place

OH MY GOD!!! I swear that I am burning all my parenting books. All 1,759 of them (give or take).

I am tired of comparing my kid to the "normals". So she doesn't crawl yet. She is extra good at manipulating adults to bring her where she needs to go. So she won't sit still and eat 3 solid food meals a day. She is smart enough to know that lounging back on mom's lap having her bottle held for her leaving her hands free to pull the strings on mom's pajama bottoms is, by far, a better use of time.

I am also over the advice about sleep training (aka passive-aggressive child abuse) because none of the so-called experts bother to explain that when you get one area under control (like now my kid will go to bed easily at night) another ridiculous problem creeps up in its place (she now wakes up at 5:30 am ready to go).

I refuse to be held captive by the "experts" anymore. I am only listening to other moms. And not just any other moms. The ones who go on and on about how their kid started sleeping through the night at 2 weeks old and never went back can suck it. I am determined to find mom friends who had terrible children who made them question if there wasn't some one night stand with Satan that she forgot about which could have led to such a completely wild (seemingly evil) baby.

I WORSHIP the written word. It is my comfort and my friend. I would never hurt it because it has gotten me through some tough times. But the parenting books are going up in flames because I'm convinced that reading them is good for NOBODY.