Motherhood Uncensored

Long ago, in a time when blogs were just blogs

I've been trying to comment more on actual blogs lately, and not just liking or tweeting, as seemingly easier as that is, but wow, these days you have to do a song and dance number, then show your bra size and whistle the secret code before you can. 

There's a benefit to that, I suppose, because unlike here on my blog, the author can easily respond to the commenter, and show his or her deep appreciation for the comment. 

Or more easily tell them to shut the fuck up. 

Not that I would ever do that to you specifically, of course, but it's a nice benefit nonetheless. 

Here on my old Typepad blog, which has had that Friends with Kids ad in the sidebar forever now because I can't figure out how to get it down, I'm still rockin' the old system where you just have to decipher the silly captcha that I use to help prevent some of the spam. 

Even then, it still doesn't stop Christian Dior Handbags. 

You cannot subscribe to comments, which THANK GOD almighty because I accidentally did that once and holy emails. And if you want to tweet my post, you must manually copy and paste the URL. Same goes for Facebook or Stumbleupon (which, are we still using that?). Even Pinterest (though seriously, what you would pin from this blog I do not know). 

There are no buttons. No fancy counters to show you that I have been liked by 1800 people.

If I was The Bloggess. 

But this also makes interacting with you a bit challenging.

I've grown lazy in my commenting back, which is truly much easier on Facebook or Twitter because I don't have to enter my own personal information and complete a captcha ON MY OWN BLOG in order to tell you "Yes!" or "Thanks for saying that!" or "Leave me the fuck alone, already!" 

Then I read Liz's post about inspiring people and saw all the lovely shout-outs to inspiring bloggers and commenters (and Sara, gee whiz you made my entire year!) and I realized, maybe people don't know that I read every single comment on my posts. All of them. Sometimes twice and three times. I laugh, smile, and nod right with you.

I really really appreciate the time you take to spell out HD8IK9, and say "hello." 

So lest you think I'm a total snotty asshole who is just too good to respond, mostly I'm just too freaking lazy to fill out my own personal information and do the captcha.

Because I don't want to

This weekend we drove down to my husband's Reserves base for Family Day, which involved tours of big airplanes, only two weather-related freak outs by my son, and 10 minutes in a blazing hot bouncy castle. 

And a spouse flight, which I didn't go on, and hadn't really thought much about until a friend of my husband's asked me why I wasn't on the plane. 

"Because I didn't want to," I told him, trying to think of a better, funnier answer. The fact that I had "slept" horizontally at the foot of a sofa bed that two of my kids were sleeping didn't help. 

But it was better than telling him that the idea of being attached to an open plane with a vest and strap that went around my undercarriage wasn't super appealing. 

And that I'd be suffering for days with a hemorrhoid flare up of epic proportions so sitting on a flat metal bench and squeezing my ass cheeks together out of complete fear sounded like complete torture. 

Well, and that I just didn't want to. 

He seemed surprised that I didn't give him a long winded explanation, which most people do, including me, and what usually involves some level of oversharing, at least on my part, anyway.

 Then he chuckled and replied "That's the nice thing about being an adult, isn't it?" 

And you know, he was right.

And that certainly doesn't just apply to spouse flights. 

I've been thinking a lot lately about all the things I do on a daily basis, many of which I'm absolutely required to do, for my own survival and my kids' survival.  

But there is a lot that I do that I really don't have to do. And I'm not even really sure why I do it. 

I'm sure you could think of a few things yourself. Maybe more than a few. 

I know that I can.

And then I wonder that if I wasn't doing those things, what could I really be doing? The time and energy and space in my brain that I barely have to spare these days could be freed up to perhaps do things that I like to do. 

And actually want to do.

The ability that we have to do what we want, even if it's just for a few minutes every day, is something we should really cherish. Isn't that why we wanted to grow up? So we could do what we wanted without anyone breathing down our necks, telling us where to be and when. 

We're free! And yet, we're still weighed down. 

There is power in saying "no." (Or "No thank you" if you have manners). And there's not guilt or shame in doing so, no matter how much someone else thinks you should or could or WILL REALLY REGRET NOT DOING IT. 

I'll be okay. Promise. 

Because sometimes just not wanting to do something is a good enough reason not to do it. 

And it's just as simple as that. 

Breast is best for baby. But what about mom?

Over the last few days, I've been asked to comment about Mayor Bloomberg's Latch On NYC initiative, which aims to increase the number of breastfeeding mothers in the New York City area. 

I won't go into all the gory details about how I feel about it, because I did so on HLN News Now with Katherine Stone from Postpartum Progress. Unfortunately, that link is a short clip of a lively five-or-so minute conversation we had, but it gives you an idea of how I feel. 

Then they asked me to write an Op-Ed piece in which I got all angry and told Mayor Bloomberg to get his hands out of my bra. 

When I calmed down a little, I figured out what really bothered me about the whole thing. And really, what's always bothered me about this whole Breast is best stuff. 

This coming from a mom of four who breastfed for just over seven years. 

Yes. You can bet I counted. 

I'd love to know your thoughts!  And if you've written about it, like Mom-101 , PhD in Parenting, and Ask Moxie did, leave your link in the comments. I'd love to read it.