Wednesday, September 29, 2010

I have to...

Again with the Facebook status updates. This time in reference to motherhood. I have seen several over the last few weeks that come just shy of gushing over being a parent. Gushing and oozing the kind of bullsh*t that not even a dumb puppy would fall for. Or a middle school blonde for that matter.

To be clear, I can understand the moments of pure insane love that come over a mother, even when her children are grown. I've seen it in my own mother who once said, "You know, whenever you guys come to visit it's like a movie star is here." At the time, I thought she was insane, but I know the feeling now. When Anna gets off the bus with her white fedora tipped rakishly on her head, her backpack slung carelessly on one shoulder, yeah, it feels like I'm watching a movie and loving every minute of it because the star is mine and mine alone. The same can be said for Lucian, when I hear him in the EARLY hours of the morning talking to himself and quietly setting up elaborate war games with Matchboxes, I can almost see the evil genius he will be.

But back to the gushing. When I read things like, "I love my little man," or "Haven't slept in weeks but my baby is my world" or "At home with a sick kiddo" my stomach ties up in an uncomfortable knot. I know what's behind those updates because I read the previous five from the days before. "Need a night on the town," or "I don't think I can do this much longer" or "is exhausted and blah today."

I can put two and two together. So that by the time the "happy mommy" update hits, it's already out there. You're trying to convince yourself that you've got the best job in the world, but we all know it's a sh*tfest, so there's no need to put on a show. Yes, we know you love your little man, but we also know that you posted that because you think you might sell him to itinerant workers by the end of the week.

And yes, it's ok to be totally f*cking enraged that you haven't gotten any sleep for the last three months because a being the size of a bag of sugar eats, sh*ts and cries his way through your life and there's nothing you can do to stop it. It's cool, ladies, we get it. You don't gotta tell us you love your kids, but who do you think you're kidding with the 1950's Good Mother updates. They're downright scary. Just tell it like it is, you'll feel better: "If this kid doesn't f*cking sleep tonite I'm feeding him to the coyotes" or "My 9-year-old is being a royal biatch today" or "Praise god, I just found the holiday clonapin."

Do it.

Just to solidify this point, I saw a woman in a cafe yesterday with her two young kids, maybe 6 and 3. It was about 4 o'clock in the afternoon and she was there alone at first and then a friend showed up with another kid. I thought how chill the kids were, keeping themselves amused and chatting as their mother pounded back a few beers (it was a cafe, btw, where coffee is the main beverage) and gossiped with the friend. The kids got antsy (hell, I get antsy after 35 minutes) and as she was taking a huge gulp from her beer, the cross-eyed angry look she gave them gave me chills. Like she might've killed them, and there she was and there they were in their perfect clothes, with their designer rain boots, and their organic snacks and she hated them to the core.

Update your status, moms.

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