Motherhood Uncensored

Sometimes I Have No Idea Where She Came From

"That's Baby Chalk in mommy's belly."

Um. Hello. She's 2.5 and has never seen a picture of a baby, in a uterus, and a vaginal canal.

When God Gives You a Girly Girl, You're Just Along for the Ride

If my life was a movie, it would be called "It's an Ironical Life."

I divorced a sex-loving really nice guy with even nicer parents for a fairly high-maintenance libido-less dude with crazier-than-thou parents. I left Mississippi to live with my in-laws. And, despite all my attempts to raise an anti-princess tool-kit loving toddler, she is, by all accounts a girly girl.

Now don't get me wrong. I did my fair share of ballet dancing, hair curling, and make-up wearing. And I still do. Except the ballet - which, as you might imagine, would be quite a feat this late in my pregnancy.

But honestly, I'm definitely a girly-ish girl.

And while I do try to push purple, green, and yellow, along with tools, Bob the Builder, and other not-so-Barbie items, I am not about to deny my daughter any of her wants just because they seem to be too stereotypical of women.

Okay. So a Bratz doll, for sure. They will never be touched by my daughter's little tiny fingers. And the real make up kit and *gulp* BARBIE DOLL (complete with mini-skirt and 6 inch platforms) from you.know.who have already been donated to the trash can.

For real.

But, truth be told, she was dying for a dollhouse and she loved herself a play kitchen, and the good mother that I am (or if you're speaking to my daughter -- SANTA --) gave in. And so, amidst the tools, bicycle, and dinosaur toys, there's the Little Tikes Kitchen, two dollhouses, a lovely ballet outfit complete with REAL ballet shoes, and a baby doll.

It doesn't make me any less of a mother, nor her any less of a feminista. At least, that's what I try to tell myself. Is gender neutrality highly overrated? Am I fooling myself to think that we can escape all these ridiculous pink toys?

Or are our girls programmed? wired? genetically predisposed?

Quite frankly, I can't say I'm that disappointed. I mean when she's this cute, you just can't imagine her with a tool belt, construction boots, and a hard hat on.

Joisey Girl

I spent half of my life trying to get the hell out of Jersey, and the last five trying desperately to get back. I'm not quite sure what it is about Jersey that people seem to loathe, including the folks that live there.

Okay. I get the high car insurance. Highest in the country, actually.

Oh. And no left turns. They have these things called "jughandles." Basically, you have to make a right (either before or after the light) to make a left. Personally, I think left turn arrows are highly overrated.

And then there's the whole Jersey accent that is really a combo of Philly and NYC slapped together with a speech impairment (thanks Governor Kean) that makes everyone think we talk weird.

Or weirdly. (Sorry I'm from Jersey).

Sure. The bad drivers. The landfills. The "haha garden state." The weird roads.

And the hair.

Oh. The. Hair.

But c'mon people. Lest you forget the good things that Jersey has brought to this earth. Hi. Bon Jovi? Full Serve Gas? The Boardwalk? Cheese Steaks?

Oh wait. That's Philly. Damnit.

Seriously, Jersey gets such a bad rap wherever you go. It's not NYC. It's not Philadelphia. So apparently it's not cool. And to be honest with you, I've grown up just saying "I'm from outside Philly" so not to have to deal with the wrath of the Jersey haters.

But today I'm proud to be a Joisey girl because if I so had the desire, I could be legally united with another Joisey girl in what is the fifth state to allow legal civil unions for gay folks. That's right. They can enjoy visitation at hospitals, adoption rights, and even give their partner insurance.

Who woulda thunk it?

And I know that a civil union does not a marriage make, however, take it from me. I'm married and it's not all that it's cracked up to be people.

So congrats my gay friends. Enjoy your legally united gambling excursions and some salt water taffy on me!

Curtain Call

I sang my heart out. Night and day. Day and night.

I danced a good dance. Jiggled. Bounced. Rocked my hips in a hypnotic rhythm.

"I'm the one you need," I told them. "You won't be sorry."

But it just didn't work out. Wrong dance. Wrong song. Wrong day.

Until finally. They heard me.

And I got it.

7 days. The matinee.

Sure. The house was quiet. And mostly empty.

But I didn't care.

I had made it.

No more weird dances. Crappy songs. Begging, pleading, and selling my soul on a daily basis like a whore on 7th Avenue.

I HAD MADE IT.

Until last week.

Apparently my run is over. My last bow taken. Final show of...

THE NAP.

"Quiet time in your room for 2 hours" now showing. It's clearly not as entertaining as the nap, but it will have to do.

Got MILF?

Maybe it's because I'm 210lbs and 9 months pregnant. Or that my husband dumped his libido with my daughter's placenta over 2 years ago. Or that the only thing that fits me just so happens to look like an Army tent.

But, damnit. I'd love to be irrestibly fuckable.

People get all in a tizzy about the acronym MILF and lately, this whole "Hot Moms" thing. It's one thing to compete for Hottest Mom in America (ack), but what's so wrong with wanting to be hot? Just because I can shoot milk from my boob and hit the guy on the corner walking his dog directly in the eyeball doesn't mean I have to resign myself to a large muu-muu, fanny pack (sorry Izzy), and shoes that you explain away as "really comfy for chasing around the kids."

Why do people think HOT MOMS = Real Wives of the OC = MILF = bad for feminism?

At this point in my life, I'm not trying to look hot for anyone but myself. Let's be honest. My husband doens't notice a new shirt, hairdo, or even sexy bra these days. And if he does, I get the descriptive compliments. You know those right?

"Oh. Your hair is shorter."

Um. Thanks. Yes. Generally what happens when you get a hair cut.

And I'm certainly not a huge preggo with toddler out on the prowl for some hot tv doctor to screw me hard in the backseat of his black mercedes benz (okay, been watching way too much Grey's Anatomy apparently).

Okay. Maybe I am. But that's a whole other post.

But for someone to still think me hot besides my husband (let's pretend he does just for the sake of this argument here), even now, as a soon-to-be mom of two, would ROCK.

Why can't I wear a great outfit, put on some make-up, and damnit, feel great about myself and still be a flaming full-blooded feminista? Motherhood can be extremely depressing and isolating as it is, and the last thing moms need is a reminder that they lost their sexual appeal when they pushed out their kid.

Moms feeding babies, wiping little butts, chasing toddlers away from electrical sockets, and singing sweet lullabies should be hot. And if that doesn't make you feel hot (which I'm thinking most of us mothers out there can attest to not feeling particularly sexy when wiping your child's poopy ass), then what's so wrong with wanting a great pair of jeans, cute shirt, and a hairdo that does not include the words "pony" or "tail" so you can feel good?

When did that become whorish?

So, sue me, but I'm happy to be called a MILF because at least I know that someone other than "Mr. Rabbit Pearl 2007" thinks I'm hot.

You?