Legitimate Mothering (or VOTE FOR REB!)

A year before Gideon, there was this Dr. Phil episode -- a studio audience full of mothers: "stay-at-home" moms versus "working" moms. The "stay-at-home" moms were "lame losers with nothing going on in their sad little lives except their children -- these women weren't good at anything and lacked ambition and that's why they had kids" and the working moms were "selfish, uncaring, unloving and treated children as if they were fashion accessories -- these women loved themselves more than they loved their children."

Simple.

You know, cause if you're not conducting your life exactly like I'm conducting my life or how I think I would conduct it if I was in your position, you're my enemy or at the very least, deserving of my scorn. Cause not only do I have an opinion, I think its OK to impose my judgement on others -- especially strangers because I know much more about their personal situations than they do.

While I watched what is probably my least favorite episode, all I could think was what the fuck is wrong with these people? Why does the existence of one have to be so threatening to the other? Why all or nothing?

One of the painful lessons motherhood has taught me is that everything is political and try as I might to avoid it, I can't. I had no idea of the extent. It's not merely whether or not you work, it's are you breastfeeding and if so are you really breastfeeding or are you taking the easy out and supplementing with a bottle of formula once in a while or pumping and how long are you doing it, a month, six months, a year, two years, longer? After three nurses and two lacatation consultants, I decided (to the last consultant's chagrin) to exclusively pump and her response, "Well, you're still technically a breastfeeding mom." Um, fuck you, I don't care if I get to be part of the club or not. I'm just trying to do a good job under difficult circumstances.

Then there's the whole how you birth your baby political lines. No, we can't just accept that a successful birth is one done as close to the mother's wishes as possible and resulting in a healthy child. No, we feel it our duty to try to convince others whether or not they should use any pain killers or if its more appropriate to birth in a hospital or at home. No, no, we can't even let this most personal of decisions go by without our outsider know-it-all judgement. We got to get as many people on our "side" else we might lose the Top Mommy election.

Omigod, I can't believe Beverly made it to the final round. She took Tylenol with Codeine while in labor AND she only breast fed for six months. What's wrong with America? She's practically Mary Kay Letourneau!

And there's organic vs. processed foods, TV versus none, public school vs. private vs. home, cloth vs. disposable, co-sleeping vs. crib, one vs. four, soccer vs. football, spanking vs. caning, immunizations vs. the plague . . .

These aren't personal choices. You'd think they were, well I thought they were, but no they're something we have to furiously advocate for, argue and condemn. Apparently this is what sets us apart. This is us versus them. We can't simply listen and consider somebody's experience and perception -- it's a snippy Well then, if you're not going to agree with me we'll have to agree to disagree. Harumph!

Just like politics, it's the moderates, the majority, who suffer the most insult -- I guess cause we're swing voters?

Working from home while raising a small child -- let's see, it's lame and not really working because it's not going someplace and interacting with adults and it's not like I have to write and edit and publish. Oh wait, no, it's selfish because that means I'm taking away a certain amount of time from my son and lord knows if I give him so much a minute to play solo amongst his toys or let someone else watch him on occasion, it's neglect. If he ever catches on that I have additional interests and priorities, other things going on in my life aside from him, well, he'll probably grow up and shoot the president to impress a girl. (Which we all know is really just a metaphor for the absense of a mother's love.)

So dear strangers who know better than I (and take heart, there have been quite a few of you), when my son is that deranged psychopath sobbing on the therapist's chair If only my mother loved me instead of her poems and projects. If only she brought me along everywhere she went, tended to my every desire of my every waking moment instead of abandoning me with my father and aunts and grandmothers and the neighbor who ran that home daycare. . . I could have been a contender! -- THEN make your obnoxious unsolicited comments.

But until that time arrives, keep it to your God damn self.