Adventure #14 -- Picking Apart Why Motherhood Intimidates Me (the answer is the internet)

I'm at the age when people have babies. I've been married for five and a half years. JJ and I are educated, both have stable jobs, and we have a house. So "obviously" the next milestone is having a kid. And we probably will in a couple of years.

But I'm going to be honest here, I find motherhood very intimidating. It seems like such an awful and terrifying thing, and I will tell you why I think that is:

The Internet.

I'm pretty sure the internet ruined everything. If I were in the same position I am now in 1982 or 1975, I would probably have already had a kid without giving it much of a thought. But right now, the more I read about motherhood on the internet the more intimidated I become.

I am not a particularly political person. But it seems like every decision about motherhood/parenting these days is like belonging to some sort of radical zealot political party and the internet is a psychotic echo chamber that makes everything Much Bigger Than It Needs To Be. Every decision is breathlessly cataloged on blogs and "mommy" websites, then rabidly picked apart and judged by others on the internet. This then translates to groups of women who all basically hate each other in real life with as much smug condescending scorn as republicans and democrats hate each other (which I also think is unbelievably absurd, but that's another rant for another day).

Anyway, the expectations I will face if I choose to have a kid make me feel like the wind has gone out of my sails. And maybe some of these expectations are a class issue. But I know what is expected of me. I am expected to breast-feed. For a year. And to be devastated if I can't. I am expected to explore alternative birthing options, and probably pick the one that means I will be in the maximum amount of pain. I am expected to limit my child's TV watching. I am expected to do the majority of my child's science fair project. I am expected to spend hundreds of dollars and hours on elaborate and beautiful birthday parties and holidays. I am expected to put my child on the waiting list for the "best" daycare the day I find out I'm pregnant and then feel horribly guilty about going back to work. I am expected to walk some magical perfect line between being nurturing and fostering independence. I am expected to put a few photos of my baby up on facebook, but not too many (and let's be honest, I already put up too many photos of my cats). I am expected to research schools, send my kid to the best one, help with homework every day, and be involved in the PTA. I am expected to lose the baby weight in the first year, though six months would be better.

How do I know that these are just a few of the thousands of subtle or overt expectations that I will face? Because I've seen it in real life and I've read about it on the Giant Terrifying Internetz. It's like I'm a baby-hypochondriac and the internet is the webMD that answers every time "you have a special form of cancer known as 'You Will Permanently Damage Your Child and Be a Pariah In Civilized Society and Other Mothers and Also Childless Women Will Hate You'".

This is maybe why I couldn't stop crying inappropriately over the last year or so as I tried to think about whether or not I wanted to have a kid. Places I cried included the Janie & Jack outlet in Opry Mills, my sister-in-law's baby shower, in front of nearly every friend I have (one of whom I called on the phone specifically so I could cry about this), and at a baptism at church when I was sitting in the choir stalls (in front of the whole church) surrounded by pregnant women. They were all like, "Are you okay?" Hell no, I'm not okay. The internet has made me terrified of motherhood, but has also instilled two other fears:

• I might horribly regret not having a kid because it will likely be one of the most profound experiences in my life.
• I'm old as Methuselah (biologically speaking) and my insides are turning to dust within me and OHMYGOD WHAT IF IT'S TOO LATE?!?!?! It's not politically correct to talk about this, but as far as fertility goes, I've only got a good five more years before I have to start taking all the scary extra tests because I might birth a two-headed baby.

It wasn't until I read an article (ON THE INTERNET!) written by some lady about how she basically did the bare minimum (which wasn't anything near abuse, she just refused to do her kid's school projects, ate soft cheese while she was pregnant, and forced her kids to get their own buckets to throw up in when they were sick once, which apparently counts as the bare minimum these days) that I began to consider that maybe I could have a kid someday. This lady has three or four grown up well-adjusted kids. I can't for the life of me find the article, which is driving me crazy, considering it was what changed my previously held hard-line stance against having kids.

It turns out that I'm not actually afraid of having a kid. I'm afraid of the expectations.

Who could be afraid of this? Look at that sweet little face.
(Yours truly, circa 1984)

I think if I'm going to have a chance of having a sane relationship with the concept of motherhood, I'm going to have to stop reading about it. I cut myself off from webMD once, and I think it's time to cut myself off from reading about motherhood and use the internet for its intended purpose-- looking at pictures of cats.

Adventure #13 -- In which I outline the things I think are abominations

Abomination. It's a good word. It has a strong religious "hellfire & damnation" subtext that I appreciate greatly.

I enjoy declaring that various things are abominations. Here, in no particular order are the five abominations I could think of off the top of my head after accidentally drinking a rather strong gin & tonic.

1. Extremely cheap gin

So, there was a point last year where I was simultaneously kinda broke and also having people over a lot. First of all, let me say that I am by no means a Bombay Sapphire kind of girl. I actually think it tastes too much like vodka. I also do not like Hendrick's. Too cucumbery. I want my gin to taste like gin. I usually go for regular Bombay which is probably about $30 a handle. (Gotta buy handles, it's much more economical!)... Anyway. I was in the booze store, and I saw New Amsterdam. Which was about $20 an handle. I cheaped out. NEVER cheap out in the gin aisle. Especially if you are buying in bulk. New Amsterdam gin tastes like orange dreamsicles. Maybe it's acceptable after you've had several other cocktails, or if you need liquor to wash down an actual orange dreamsicle, but as far as I'm concerned, it is an abomination. Anything cheaper than New Amsterdam is also likely an abomination. An undrunk section of that handle is still in my house, though several handles of bombay have come and gone (into my liver) since.

2. Truck balls

Abomination. 

3. Sweet white wine

EEWWWWW. If you want (alcoholic) kool-ade, just drink it. Go to sonic, drink a quarter of your cherry limeade or purple slushy thing and replace it with vodka. You're an adult now and can do what you want. (Unless you are a child, in which case, put down the bottle, get back to studying, and kindly remove yourself from my lawn). Sweet white wine? Abomination. Cheap champagne (other than korbel, which is an abomination), is acceptable.


4. Low-fat cheese and other fake food-like objects

I mean, really? Because that springy squeaky chemical-laden texture somehow indicates that this product is more healthy than actual cheese? I seriously doubt it. If you want to eat cheese and not gain weight, here's a secret: DONT EAT THE ENTIRE WHEEL. You'll be fine. Really. This also goes for artificial sweeteners, low carb carbs, and fake meat including, but not limited to, turkey bacon. How is pumping a food full of artificial chemicals, sweeteners, etc. (in an attempt to make it something other than what it is) going to make it anything other than an abomination? I don't know.

5. Liquid silver polish

I don't really know why this was invented, considering how completely useless it is. It is so thin and awful. The paste-like polish is the only one worthwhile. Plus it comes in the tub with the sponge, which is also much more functional than whatever rag you use to apply the liquid. Liquid silver polish= abomination. 

Adventure #12 -- Tuppence a Bag

Mary Poppins is one of my favorite movies. I rarely watch it, but frequently think of it. There are just so many great things about it-- the music, the actors, the crazy old man who sets off his canon throughout the day, sister suffragettes, jumping into a chalk drawing and going on a fox hunt, the sweet, darling penguins, tea party on the ceiling, England, the "fidelity fiduciary bank"... (probably why I wanted to be a banker when I was a kid...yeah, I was weird)...

Anyway, point being, I have developed this urge to feed the birds. In my yard.

When we lived in Sewanee, we didn't have a backyard. We had the woods. Three feet from our backdoor was where the woods started. Needless so say, we had lots and lots of birds. If you sat still and paid attention for a few seconds, you could hear them chirping (and feathering their nest, with very little time to rest, while gathering their bits of twine and twig!-- Seriously, Mary Poppins, such good music). It was nice.

This morning the damned cats woke me up early. So I retreated to the guest room to shut them up/ play with them and noticed I could hear the birds. I like that and I want it to keep happening. So, as of today, I think I may become a crazy bird lady (like my mother) in addition to being a crazy cat lady. Our yard is already pretty bird friendly, so I think it shouldn't be too difficult to make it even better. We just need to keep the bastard squirrels from eating everything. So.

I got the squirrel deterrent:

"Does it say anything about leaving piles
of squirrel diarrhea in your yard?" -JJ
I married well, y'all. 

And the feeder:

Squirrel Slayer 3000 (not really)

We're going to put it up on the back deck and feed the birds. I really want some cedar waxwings to come visit, but I think they mostly eat berries.

Like their wings are dipped in red wax. Apparently
they've been at the Makers Mark, the little lushes.