Gender stereotyping, sexuality, and toddlers: Bring on the lipgloss

 Has Hawk's exposure to other children bent him towards more "traditional" boy colors? 

There's something I've never really come out and said on this blog, though I've alluded to it in other places around the Internet: I'm bisexual.

As a young woman away from home this manifested in a proper girlfriend for a few months and later morphed into something less romantic and more sexually driven.  I've never had a relationship with a woman since.  I prefer relationships with men but am still attracted to women and enjoy their company when compelled.  If you can imagine that sexuality spectrum then I'm somewhere left of center closer to what would look like straight to you.

All my family and friends know, but I keep it close to my chest in most cases.  Every time I tell someone I'm "coming out."  It's a never-ending process and always causes me some nervousness.  The word "bi" seems trite and fickle, when it's neither.  I just don't have a better word for it.  Rooster knows how I'm oriented and never bat an eye about it; friends all knew long before I did and my family pretty much pretends I never told them (why wouldn't they?  if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, blah blah blah).

I'm sharing this now because Hawk is a boy -- genetically speaking, and I have raised him as such -- but I am extremely careful about the words I say when it comes to attraction and love.  I avoid asking him if he has any "girlfriends" at school, instead I ask him if he likes any boys or girls.  I encourage him to show loving affection to anyone who seems amenable to it, regardless of whether or not the recipient is a wee boy or girl.  And I make sure he sees me as openly affectionate to the world as I want to be.

I've trained my family and friends to do the same.  I'm the one who always adds, "... or boys!" to the  question of "Are there any cute girls at school??"  I'm pretty sure my family and in-laws think I'm nuts and overzealous about all of this, but too bad.

But my goal here is to normalize the spectrum of feelings he's beginning to develop; the bonds he's making with other children both boys and girls.  I remember quite vividly being attracted to boys when I was three because that's all I knew, but by the time I was six I had intense infatuations, lo, crushes, on other girls that I couldn't make any sense of.  If anyone had ever said to me, "Hi, Jessie!  So are there any boys or girls you have a crush on at school?" it would have revolutionized my childhood and I might have skipped over years of self-loathing and fear of my sexual proclivities.  Or maybe not, it's hard to tell, but it couldn't have hurt.

I don't want to take for granted what I imagine for my son.  I have no freaking clue where he's going to land on that sexual spectrum.  He could be as queer as a three-dollar bill or be straighter than a friggin' arrow, but I damn sure don't want to be the cause of fear and loathing in his own private Vegas.  Sexuality is confusing enough without any outside pressure to be someone or do something that doesn't come naturally.

At school he has two best friends.  A little girl named Fleur who plasters herself all over him on a daily basis, towering over him by an inch and toppling him with her vigor; and Keenan, a sprite of a boy with strawberry blond hair and bright blue eyes.  The two boys are particularly drawn to one another, seeming to share some unspoken thing between them, but Fleur isn't discouraged in the least and the three of them are usually found napping or eating lunch together like a pile of puppies.


Hawk's little heart is so open and pure to friendship no matter who it is right now.  When else are we ever this blank? this accepting?  I'd venture to say never again as we grow up and learn to judge others and it's now that I want to impress upon him the range of love.

Ok, so I've got my non-straight vernacular down and my kid is hanging with boys and girls with equal fervor.  What's next?

Well, quite honestly, it's onto tackling gender stereotypes.

I've written before about pink shoes and gender-neutral nurseries and how I've avoided shirts with footballs on them and things that hype up masculinity.  I buy more expensive Gap clothing for the sheer fact that I can get pink shirts there or Easter-colored plaid shorts (at least they used to have 'em).

And now that Hawk is more engaged with me as a little person he wants to do what I do, so that means every morning when I put on makeup, he "puts on makeup, too."  He paints his face with blush and smears his chin and lips with gloss and peers into the mirror exclaiming how pretty he is.  I encourage the exploration as enthusiastically as I would him mirroring his father's morning ablutions.  I mean, why not??  Allowing him to explore every facet of his life (which includes mine) will help him better define himself later on down the road when decision making is paramount.

 

All gussied up.

 Since starting school Hawk is exposed to so much more than just my bathoom.  The children at his school do all sorts of "traditional" play while continuing to mix it up and bend gender biases.  Boys shoot each other with sticks while wearing dresses and girls try to figure out the best way to scoop dirt with the dump trucks while braiding each other's hair.   It's all a hodge-podge, as well it should be.

All this to say, though, I am still unable to erase all gender-specificity from his life.  He is drawn to things with wheels and gadgets, rockets, lightsabers, guns, any kind of tractor or piece of heavy machinery.  The other day he shot an older couple at Wholefoods with a bunch of carrots, the spray of green fronds tucked under his armpit.  They chuckled and told me it was "a boy thing."  I had to agree since every little girl I know would have been rocking that bunch of carrots and combing the greens instead.

I also admit to not buying him clothing from the girls' section.  I avoid scalloped trim and puffy sleeves, skirts and dresses.  I'll buy him the pinkest pink shirt but it will be an androgynous cut.  I hope it's enough to let him identify with being a boy without too much pressure to stay in that particular box.  If he ever wants to wear a dress to school I'll back him up the best I can and pray the kids don't eat him alive.  I'll explain to him what might happen and why and see where he takes it from there.

His bedroom is still pretty much just a kid's room, except for the tractor pillow cases he made with my mom.  I mean, I'm sure there's a girl out there obsessed with tractors, too, I just haven't met her yet.

Ok, Spiderman might be a hint there's a boy in residence, too.

And yet, just the other day, we were at my friend's house with her twin daughters and Hawk dove right into a spare princess dress and happily proclaimed he was a princess, too.

 

He fluffed his tutu.

Kids explore and they search and they play with everything that crosses their paths and this includes concepts as well as preconceived notions.  Just because we see a certain trajectory for them doesn't mean it's what they're going to choose.  I believe that keeping our words non-straight friendly and our minds open to imaginative play without gender discrimination we can teach a child to accept him or herself later on down the road.  And it also doesn't hurt to start to re-program our own ways of thinking about gender and sexual orientation.  Take it from one non-straight person, it's better to be flexible now rather than later.

How do you guys approach this whole thing??


Oh, and here's Hawk's new pair of Crocs:

Surprised?

Isn't it obvious?

Everytime Hollis sees this he points and says, "That's you, Mommy!"

A lesser woman might have asked, "What about this reminds you of Mommy?"

And a lesser woman might also have been relieved with, "Shes eating grapes!" as a response.

When "feminist/breastfeeding blogs" are bad words

I can't even remember what the big hullabaloo was last year with moms, but I do know it was the first time I'd ever heard of the "Mommy Wars."  It could have been about stay-at-home-moms vs. work-out-of-home moms, or mothers vs. non-mothers, or moms who aren't employed, but have their kids in daycare vs. moms who are with their children all day long... the list goes on (and on).

Today, the war of words has drifted to style of parenting and all that falls under certain categories - or, at least, perceived categories and their associations.

On one side, we seem to have the group of mothers who dedicate their public spaces (i.e., blogs) to breastfeeding advocacy, natural child-birth practices, cloth diapers, organic foods, baby wearing, a mother's rights to knowledge and support via legal channels, gentle and non-physical discipline, bed-sharing, not letting their kids cry it out, Cesarean-section avoidance, and keeping their sons' penises intact.

The other side includes mothers with space devoted to telling other mothers that it's ok to formula feed, opt-in for the epidural and scheduled C-section, that disposables are a God-send as are the jars of baby food at the grocery store, a woman should go somewhere private to breastfeed for modesty's sake, spank, have their babies in a separate room from day one, let them cry themselves to sleep, and who circumcise their sons.

Pretty black and white, right?

Wrong.  So wrong!

Not one family is all or nothing.  There are mothers who breastfeed the first, but not the second child; who have an epidural, but refuse inducing; who spank, but don't do CIO; who formula feed, but make their own baby food.  Nor is anyone "wrong" for doing what fits best for their situation and personality.

I don't know why we've done this to ourselves (pitting mothers one against the other, yet again), but we have.  Sure, I might never spank my son and I could give you 100 reasons why, but I would never tell you you were a piece of shit for deciding to do it with your family.  Of course I think MY way is better, it's why it's MY way.  I mean, of course!

And therein lies the rub for all of us: We all think our way is the best way.  It's a necessary job requirement when it comes to parenting.  We have to be married to our methods - and also flexible if the outcome is not what we were expecting - in order to be consistent, fair, and stable.  We have to commit!

I hate it that a blogger I really like because she's witty and wry got absolutely FLAMED for first, a guest post saying it's ok to use formula, and second, for an interview she gave about using over-the-counter drugs for uses it's not intended for.

Jill's whole shtick at Scary Mommy is that she's devoted, but also out-numbered, and sometimes chooses the path of least resistance (like letting her youngest eat like a dog), and yet other bloggers I also esteem (for entirely different reasons) feel entitled to go after Jill's posts with the fury of a mother scorned.  And beat up and with the wind knocked out of her Jill writes this:

For all of you perfect parents making perfect decisions in your perfect lives, this isn’t the place for you. Why don’t you look up some of the feminist/breastfeeding blogs? Those folks always seem to have the right answers.

And, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

 Ouch.

I get that breastfeeding is intrinsically linked up with feminism, but why do feminism and breastfeeding always seem to be linked up with bullying those who choose differently?  And likewise, why do the women who formula feed bully us, too (I've seen it and it's not pretty, either)?

The reason, I think, that feminist/breastfeeding bloggers go so hog-wild whenever anyone ever says that it's ok to formula feed is because they're thinking of protecting that one woman out there who's on the verge of giving up on breastfeeding because (and no one argues with this) breast milk is the best thing for a baby.

Ok, I get that, but going after a humor blogger whose main goal is to entertain and be light isn't the way to do it because breastfeeding might not be the best thing for every woman and her family.  (And let me tell you that I practically choke on those words, but I also believe it.)

If I were that breastfeeding mom whose nipples were bleeding and baby was crying and whose mother kept telling me that she used formula and all 5 of her kids were fine I don't think I'd read Jill's guest post and think, "Hey!  She's right!  I guess I'll stop!"  I would do more research and really ask myself the hard questions.   Breastfeeding is intrinsically linked up to more factors than simply a woman's desire to breastfeed or not.  She needs support, she needs will power, she needs determination, she needs love, she needs focus, she needs education, and she needs examples. 

We haven't always been such an "enlightened" group of parents.  So many used to be hit, beaten even, children were sold to be apprentices, girls were given to old men to bear him heirs, families were split up, children were treated worse than livestock in many cases (the Dark Ages, anybody?).  And certainly NOT to say that any of that was ever ok, but I feel like I need to remind people that WE SURVIVED THE IMPERFECTIONS.  We still created amazing human beings capable of great love, innovation, art, wonder and intellect despite their deplorable childhoods.  Just because not everyone parents the same particular way today does not mean the fall of civilization as we know it.

This is how I think it should go:  I'll tell you about my life, my decisions, and my reasoning if you care to hear it.  I will show you what I think should be done by example, not by badgering or belittling and not by humiliation or condescension.  And you do me the same favor.

I don't know... I'm just so sick and tired of all the animosity between these two camps.  Mothering is hard, the most painful, soul-searing, isolating, and important thing I'll ever do in my life.  The last thing I need is to feel like I have to defend my decisions to women who've made different ones.  I beat up on myself enough as it is.

(Side note: I linked to some blogs that I think are good examples of those "camps", but  I could be entirely wrong, so please let me know and I'll revise.)

It's just a color. Or is it?

The Crocs of which I speak.

Today I had a battle at Nordstrom's.

Not with the very nice, timid, bespectacled sales woman. Not with my curious, friendly, excited 2 1/2 year old. Not with my wallet and self control. But with myself, my feminism, my fears, and my lifelong conditioning regarding gender appropriate things.

Last year I bought Hawk a pair of nice brown Crocs (and don't even get me started on how ugly I think they are, but as far as practical shoes go for 100+ degree weather and the ease with which they slip on they are simply magical). I deliberately chose brown because it's a neutral color as far as fashion goes, as well as gender.

I've always avoided traditional "boy clothing." I never buy things with footballs, baseballs, or fishing lines on them, or pithy little sayings on the front about his "manliness" or "masculinity." (Likewise, I will never dress my little girl in anything that says something about her "perfection" or "princess-like" qualities so long as I'm in charge of making the fashion decisions.) I buy pink shirts whenever available and I also buy him dolls and kitchen sets and we watch The Little Mermaid on demand (ad nauseum).

His room is yellow with a nature/kitschy look. I don't think anyone would necessarily walk into his room and think, "A little boy lives here." They would certainly know a child occupied it, but that's about it. There's a cheetah with an eye patch, an etched dove, artwork by my sister, and felt birds on the walls. A heart pillow on the wooden rocking chair and baskets full of stuffed animals, blocks, and books round out the look.

I also encourage him to be sensitive, thoughtful, careful, and loving. I applaud his efforts at making friends by being gentle, friendly, and curious. I let him explore our world by "applying" makeup with my big fluffy brushes and stomping around with my stilettos on his chubby toddler feet. I am patient with him when he balks at slides and high jumping points and I always listen to him and stop when he says, "No" to tickling, playing, kissing, whatever.

However, despite all my efforts, this time of omnipotent control over what goes on Hawk's body is coming to a close and I am being faced with my own misgivings. He is developing strong preferences for certain things. Like the shirt with the tractors all over it that his Granddad sent him. Or the shirt with the airplane on it that his Nana mailed for his birthday. He has little to no interest in things with animals on the front, it's all gears, vehicles, "robots" (whatever he thinks looks like a robot).

So while I'm not crazy about all these "typically" masculine things I feel pretty ok with it. I think to myself, "Well, he's coming by it honestly at least" and I go about my day. But today when given the choice of color of Crocs Hawk went straight for the hot pink ones.

Let me set the scene a little bit more. I gather up 7 pairs of Crocs (that's right, SEVEN) and lay them all out on the floor: two navy blue and one each of bright blue, kelly green, glowing orange, lavender, and hot, hawt pink. I'm thinking to myself that I'm really cool with whatever he picks. I mean, hey! I'm laying out pink ones, right? I'm an evolved mother!

So when he dives for those pink ones immediately I am suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of embarrassment. First at the idea of him running around for the next year in pink shoes, then at myself for being embarrassed in the first place. What difference does it make? Ever?? Not just now at 2, but even at 12 or 17? If the kid wants to wear pick effing shoes, then he should wear pink effing shoes.

But I know Hawk and he's only been able to pick colors lately (he usually has no preference). I ask him again if he really wants the pink ones. He tosses them aside and picks up the bright blue ones. I instantly feel relieved and then guilty. My guilt makes me ask him yet AGAIN if those are the shoes he really wants. He puts the blue ones down and oohs and ahhs over the ghastly orange ones. Now I'm screwed. I've completely confused him and I'm still unable to get him to pick the shoes that would make mommy most comfortable (that'd be the more fashion-neutral navy blue ones, by the way).

I've read about other parents struggling with this issue (like Dad Who Writes and Annie @ PhD in Parenting) and I have friends who talk about working on the balance between their children's desires and their own adult biases. The bottom line is that yes, we know the implied gender difference between a pair of pink shoes and blue, but children at this age do not. Yes, they might get harassed at the playground, but is it really our job to shelter them from the impact of their decisions? Good or bad?

And why am I feeling so strongly about pink shoes on my son? I can say, without a shadow of a doubt, I wouldn't feel anything like this regarding a daughter wanting to wear camouflaged Crocs.

Did I mention that I'm evolved?? Hahaha!

There will come a time when fitting in is paramount and I'm sure I'll be cringing then, too, as Hawk acts rough and tough and says and does ridiculous things to "prove" his boyness to other boys (and girls). Then it will eventually level out in late adolescence as he becomes more comfortable with himself and he finds the right balance within who he is and wants to be (whatever that may be). At least this is what I hope happens.

But for now, I am going to go to great lengths to let him enjoy the full spectrum of his rainbow, no matter which color or object it might be made of. If it includes robots, trucks, tractors, and pink shoes, then so be it.

And so, in the end, Hawk got his pink shoes.

(And a pink balloon.)

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"Mom jeans" and the curse of the MILF

This post is participating in the Body Image Carnival being hosted by Melodie at Breastfeeding Moms Unite! and Maman A Droit who will be posting articles on themes pertaining to body image all week! Make sure you check out their blogs everyday between April 12-18 for links to other participants' posts as well as product reviews, a giveaway, and some links to research, information and resources pertaining to body image.

Why isn't anyone talking about the innate derogatory nature of the "Mom Jean"?

It's used to insult people's sense of style and figure, and ultimately, it continues to marginalize mothers - not women, but mothers specifically - because as we all already know to become a mother is to lose the desirable, beautiful woman she once was. MILF, anyone?

Looking like "a mom" is an insult, a dig, a dis in any case it's used to describe a person's look.

Remember President Obama and his "mom jean" debacle? His choice of comfortable, slouchy jeans was plastered all over the journalistic and blogging world. NY Magazine, The Today Show, Yahoo! News, The Washington Post, and many more. I mean, REALLY?? We spent how many valuable man hours reporting on the man's choice in pants because they look like "mom jeans"?? (To be fair, had he been wearing hipster jeans, I don't think it'd have gone over all that well, either, but that's not my point.)

And let's not forget Jessica Simpson. A size 6 on a bad day, she recently told Oprah, she was ridiculed and vilified for wearing "mom jeans" during a performance. Personally, I thought she looked great: curvy, healthy, and didn't have to worry about her butt-crack hanging out or her love handles spilling over.

In both cases, I don't take issue with people not liking the style, it's the branding it MOM JEANS that I find so ridiculously rude, degrading, and ignorant.

In modern society mothers are discarded by the mainstream as sexy, powerful women based on the caricaturization of a few. Yes, some women wear clothing that is frumpy and ill-fitting. Yes, some women choose not to wear make-up or do their hair. But that does not mean it is a "mom look." It is that particular woman's expression of herself and she might also be a mother. It's not the mother in her that makes her dress in an unflattering way. It's the woman that she is that fuels those decisions. They are separate.

That's the fine line here: It's one thing to say, "Hey, I don't like those jeans on that lady," and "Oh my God, she's wearing mom jeans!"

This SNL skit pretty much sums it up with the line, "I'm not a woman anymore. I'm a mom!"

I did a little research on this and UrbanDictionary.com had seven independent definitions for what a "mom jean" is. Basically, they're ugly, high-waisted, butt-flattening jeans that moms wear.

And I want to say this: NO. Some women wear them. Why do we gotta dis moms like that?? I also want to ask: What's so wrong with looking like a mother, anyway??

That question brings it all back to that fucking MILF thing again. Mothers are taken out of the pool of attractive women because their shapes change from nubile, firm, and young-appearing to that of a body well-used and stretched-out from creating life. The women who manage to remain attractive by mainstream standards look mostly like their pre-mother selves: slim, perky, and svelte; and certainly "put together" that many harried, exhausted mothers cannot muster the energy nor gather the time to do for themselves.

I remember a haircut I once got that was a soft, layered bob. I thought I looked like a soccer mom and I was devastated. Even I, a bright, intelligent, feminist didn't want to look like a mother even though I was one. That was early on in my transition to becoming the mothering, feminist woman that I am today and if I sat down and received that haircut today I'd flaunt it proudly, swing my child-bearing hips, jiggle my baby-feeding breasts, and boldly show off the mother in me. Because why not?? It's beautiful and wonderful and really should be the envy of all things right and normal in this fucked up world.

We have got to stop ridiculing women for their clothing choices, for the changes that happen to their bodies when babies enter their lives and we also have to stop putting women who freeze-frame their looks on a pedestal. I'm happy for the women who either have the time or the genes (or both) to look like they are without children, but it shouldn't be the standard for all mothers.

I know I'm preaching to the choir here since most of my readers (if not all) are mothers themselves and know exactly what I'm talking about. But I've been thinking about this for months and needed to get it out there. Just like calling someone a MILF is a back-handed compliment, calling jeans "mom jeans" is an outright insult and we need to get the word out.

I dunno.... what do you guys think?

[Ed. note: I think the SNL skit is hilarious. It's taking a mainstream idea and humorizing it. I get that. But I also think the entire point that being a "mom" usurps a woman's perceived womanness is sad. That's the whole point.]

Embarrassed to be a stay-at-home-mom?? Yeah, me-f'ing-too

Meh.

Fuckin' A.

The other day I met another woman who has three kids and runs a business, ostensibly out of her home, but also away from it a large portion of the week. Her kids are in a daycare or school, I'm not sure which, but the point is they're still small(ish), not teenagers. When she found out I was a SAHM she very emphatically said, "I could never do that."

Now, this has happened many times over the last 2 and a half years. Me, a stay-at-home-mother, rubs elbows with a working mother, and it's like we're lions and tigers: the same genus, but not compatible somehow. I don't totally get how they "do it" and vice versa. But I also feel ashamed for not feeling the same way about motherhood and my life as they do. I'm not a fulfilled adult. I am just a mommy.

I want to make it very clear: This other woman was wholly NOT judgmental. This is about me and my reaction to a working mother. I felt like a country mouse next to a chic, city mouse. Working moms, to me, are seasoned, well-balanced, intelligent, sexy, hard-working, and stimulated. They are go-getters. They are powerful and strong. They are amazing.

I see women out and about sans children and I'm jealous of their freedom and choices. I'm sure they see me with mine and wish they were with their little ones all day long fielding tantrums and kissing boo boos. It's fucking nuts.

I'm curious as to why I'm still hesitant to admit that, despite all its drawbacks, I really, really love my job as a mother.

Of course, the biggest con of being a SAHM is the isolation and lack of adult stimulation we often - nay - almost always find ourselves in. It's stifling, really. But other than that, it's a pretty bad ass gig.

And so, to seem cool to this other (working) mother I sort of scoffed at myself and said that I wasn't loving the SAHM thing so much right now and I was definitely trying to get out of the house, too. To find some part-time work so I could stay happy as an adult, and, in effect, throwing my entire happy little life under the proverbial bus so I wouldn't seem simple to my new city mouse friend. That was my goal in telling her that I was looking for work: that I really couldn't "do it," either. That I was just like her.

Unfuckingbelievable.

Who the fuck am I, anyway?? Do I not know myself?? I'm a smart, educated woman who is damned lucky enough to not be required to work and who can apply 100% of herself to tasks at hand. I'm good at being a mother. It comes naturally to me, and yet here I was playing it off like I couldn't wait to get out of my life.

The truth is, as you all know from my bitching and moaning the past several months, I do want to get the duck outta fodge a lot of the time, but that's just because my life needs more seasoning. The basic recipe can stay the same, I just need a bit more coriander to fill out the flavors, or maybe a little nutmeg, or some cumin. You get my point. Some pep.

So besides feeling like a country mouse and uncool in the powerful shadow of a working mother, I also felt suddenly like a traitor to my sisters the spectrum-over. Not just mothers, but all women who fight to be heard and respected and seen in whatever it is they do. I had just fed into the notion that women doing traditionally female things aren't as sophisticated or "sexy" as those who do traditionally male activities.

I have nothing to be embarrassed about except my shitty ass attitude and I need to work on it.

Everyone, including myself!, gives being a SAHM incredible lip service: it's the hardest, most important, most rewarding, most crucial job in the world, but I still don't feel it when I walk out my door. Am I just not seeing it? Or does it really not exist out there beyond my doorstep? Do other people really think of me as trite or is that my internal voice after a lifetime of being told that you are more important/special/intelligent/worthwhile the higher up the ladder you are? the more money you make? the more you're in charge of? that staying home with children is boring and mind-numbing?

(If you have 15 minutes to burn, read this inflammatory NY Magazine article from almost two years ago. I think it pretty much proves I'm not making this shit up.)

I feel like I'm shrouded in bullshit. I can see through it, there are gaps and holes where I can see clearly, but I'm still struggling under a male-dominated view of what a successful, meaningful life looks like. It just surprises me, that's all. I'm sick that I continue to feel embarrassed about my choice to stay home when really, I should be feeling like a goddamned goddess.

I'm sure I'm not the only one who does this. What have your experiences been like when approaching your life in comparison to others'??

The nuclear family is not my friend

I have so many posts I would rather write than this one, but I am overcome with desire to pour my heart out instead; to process my hurt and confusion, my bitterness, my anger, and my sadness.

I don't think anyone knew what the nuclear family would really do to families, I mean, it sounds so great on paper! Self-sustaining! Independent! Privacy! But really, it just breaks us up, isolates us and makes maintaining connections of the daily-variety with peers nearly impossible.

It doesn't matter if you're in or out of the house, if you're the main caregiver of children you're doing it alone and mysteriously so. No one sees the machinations of a working mother or a stay at home mom. We don't know what her days and nights are made of. How she balances her needs with those of her family. We are separated from our larger communities on a basic level I'm not so convinced is totally natural and are left to recreate the wheel. Women are essentially robbed of other women and learning from their experiences first hand.

In our current nuclear set up women who leave the house to work are revered as super-women, often trying to do it all and often to their own detriment, and women staying home with children seem to be looked upon with both disdain and an odd kind of admiration for turning down the chance to earn cash. - Oh, how many times I've heard from working mothers, "I could never stay home with my children all day long! I wouldn't know what to do!" As if I somehow have a secret weapon they don't know about it. My only weapon is sheer grit and determination, honestly, and even that is waning in the harsh light of my unhappy reality. [Ed. note: the opening paragraphs were changed to better match my feelings of this particular post. My earlier version wasn't as well connected to my thought process.]

The nuclear family, something right-wing conservatives are trying so desperately to "protect," is eroding our families. This whole "someone leaves the house to make money and the other stays behind and tends to the children and the house" thing or the "both adults leave to make money, check the kids into daycare or school, come home and try to squeeze an entire day's worth of household duties into 3 and a half hours" thing SUCK. They plain S-U-C-K.

There are no helpful aunts and uncles and cousins galore to help tend to things every woman has to take care of. There is no moment where she can engage and talk and recharge while in motion. Everything must keep going. When I am with friends and family with Hollis I let go. I find myself completely disengaging for that 30 minutes or an hour and allow the other adult to relieve me of some of the burden of tending to a small, but extremely busy, tornado. I often wonder what kind of mother they think I am because I will all too happily sit in front of the TV or the computer while they tinker away with the boy.

I know for a fact that Anthony worries that I put Hollis somewhere below priority #1 because what he sees, and all he ever sees, is me taking a step back to relieve myself of the intense pressure and emotion I feel every second of the day when I'm with him. How often does your child EVER leave your mind completely when you're alone with her? Even when she's asleep I bet you go and make sure she's still breathing and snugly covered up. Your ears are trained to find "suspicious" silences, your eyes honed to notice the smallest pinch of the lips that tells you to make her spit something out, your lips finely tuned to the tracest change in body temperature, the pads of your fingertips sensitive to any new cut, bump, or rash.

[I must add here that it BREAKS MY FUCKING HEART to know that Anthony looks on my mothering with even the tiniest sliver of disappointment and skepticism. It's such a volatile topic for me that I feel fangs grow and my irises turning red when he broaches the topic of, "Is this what it's always like with Hollis when I'm not around??" There is literally nothing else he could possibly say to me to get me to shut down so emphatically and completely while simultaneously enraging me. Ever heard of don't poke the bear? Well, this is more like don't poke the starving, sleep-deprived, angry, cannibal bear.]

It is so wholly exhausting to be in charge of someone's life. I finally get it; how to explain it to others. Being alone, fully responsible for another person's life, personality, development, health, growth, and happiness - all while basically directionless and alone - has done me in.

This is what is so singularly hard about being a stay at home mother in a nuclear family. I can't believe it's taken me so long to finally get it. I've felt horribly guilty about finding it so hard because I had no schedule, no one to tell me what to do and when. I was my own boss and I was doing what I loved: raising my son. - And only one son! Not 3 or 4 or 5 kids. I've often wondered if I were busier I might not notice how shriveled up as an individual I've become, but I suppose eventually the shit hits the fan. So why not now?

I can't speak to working mothers' experiences, obviously, but I'm sure it's a shade of this for them as well. Like they can't imagine doing what I do, I can't imagine doing what they do, either: working so hard in an office then having to come home and cook, clean, love, maintain a marriage, a life, sanity, friendships. Jesus Christ. I'm overwhelmed thinking about it.

I hate to bring this up because I feel like such a fucking whiner. Some of you may be nodding your heads thinking, "Yes, she is whining. She's got it so much better than me!" and to you I say that everyone's experience is different and our hard wiring makes everything even more experiential and personal. I even look at myself and think I'm a big baby, but I can't change how this life is affecting me. I've tried.

I am so sick to death that I have to fight for live interaction with other adults. I struggle with it every day as I wander through the hours trying to keep Hollis engaged, happy, stimulated, and loved. Where are the villages of parents and friends I keep hearing about? They're like goddamned Big Foot to me at this point.

How did we let it come to this??

And I ask that question of myself and of society at large. Obviously, it's mostly rhetorical, but seriously. When did it become cool to bend over a barrel like this? And suffer and be lonely and have to sign up for adult interaction on internet websites in the form of a mommy group??

I am a swirling mass of frustration, confusion, and sadness. I wanted this life so badly and now that I have it I am drowning in it. I feel like a massive ingrate and a weakling. I am so awed by the women who have figured out how to make this work for them and humbled when they share their struggles with me. But the nuclear family is still not my friend. If it had a Twitter page I would unfollow it; a Facebook page I'd unfriend it.

Of course I don't say all this without having a plan. I always have a plan. I'm working towards happiness. I really am. Like my last post suggests we do, I am changing things and I do know how to change. I have goals to do some part-time work soon. I made a schedule of activities for me and Hollis next week which fills me with relief to have some structure. I will soon have my husband home again for a full week.

I really wish I could share everything with the Ether, but I can't, I'm afraid of some of it myself, but this is the most I can put out there while still protecting myself. I hope it's enough to pull back the curtains a bit and shine the light on the darker corners of our middle class Western family culture - and even more personally, me. Take me as I am or not at all, I say... thanks again for being here for me.

Holla, Hollis! (And Holla, Jess! too)

A tomato that got caught in toddler cross-fire.

Hollis is roughly 2 years and 3 months old. I know from reading other blogs with two-year old stars that he's a pretty average little boy, but I have to tell you that I often had to fence with doubt about his language skills.

It wasn't that he wasn't communicating. Au contraire, he did that impeccably, it was just that he was full of barely coherent one-word commands and names when other boys his age (and younger) were well on their way to three- and four-word sentences.

I routinely told myself that nothing was wrong (and there isn't) and that I would let him just BE. If he was going to take longer than other kids, then so be it. My job isn't to rate him against others or check things off a list, it's to protect him and give him space to grow. I'm not concerned with raising a genius or arming him for excellence in pre-K. Seriously. I trust that whatever intellectual gifts he has will come out with or without my coaching.

Having said all this, I am greatly relieved to be in the midst of a true word explosion. Something happened in his little two-year old brain, a mysterious pow-wow of synapses and neurons, that has catapulted us into a new realm of family life. No longer can Mimi say, "Fuck!" and expect little ears (and mouths) to not instantly regurgitate. (And imagine my great amusement that grandma was the first to be mimicked in the cussing department and not Potty Mouth Mama! Oh, the irony!!)

I can trace the magical moment to the visit with my friends in Houston before Christmas. He hung out with two 8-year olds and an 11-year old and almost upon contact he was saying new words and commands.

Watching them together I realized how much Hollis needs other children. I'm lovingly parenting him with attachment and kindness and thoughtfulness, but I'm no replacement for little grubby hands and a shorter shadow on the playground. Being a kid means being around other kids, too.

He plays with whatever is in reach: the cat that was colored green.

I keep saying it (and you all keep helpfully giving me ideas to change my situation): I need to get out there and make friends with children. I'm in a book club with a local mommy's playgroup (I know, that's more for me, but hey, I'll be more likely to go to the kiddie things if I know some of the mothers there) and my neighbors' kids are getting to the playing age, too, so I'm working on it. I can just sense that more kids are coming into our lives and I'm so excited. I'm sure Hollis would be, too, if he knew about it.

Also, I'm going to start putting feelers out for part-time work in a month or two and lil' ol' Hollis will be in part-time day care.

Whoa. Now that's some big news, right?

And goddamn does it feel good to know that I'm taking care of the Jessica part of Mommy and not trying to force my square self into a round life. I already feel lighter, smarter, happier, and more satisfied with my life. This nuclear-family, no-tribe-having, alone-due-to-a-traveling-husband, running-out-of-ideas-by-4 o'clock-bullshit is ovah. Did I mention that in my resolutions? If I didn't, I should have.

Hollis is growing. So should I. I want him to have a mother who doesn't martyr herself "for the family's sake." That's just about the worst message I could send him. He could either a) end up doing the same thing himself, or b) think that's how women are supposed to behave in a relationship - or how a child-rearing partner should behave.

He's learning new language to navigate his world and it's time I learn some new tricks, too.

Pretty soon, I'm sure we'll be able to chat about our day over coffee. Well, not really "soon," but you get my drift. He's busy moving forward and I'm going to join him.

1734 words to say, "I'm a work in progress"

Boom.

Ok, so I'm sitting here on a random Wednesday afternoon and I feel like my thoughts are clouds in a thunderhead.

The more intense my feeling about something the more remote location I give it in my mental real estate. As in, WAY the fuck OUT THERE. It's not real, it's not that big of a deal, it'll go away, etc. Yeah well, that only ever works for so long before the shit storm hits. And it's here now.

I've written before about the concepts of feminism and motherhood, although not at great length (here and here), but they're always there on my mind. I live and breathe feminist mothering. I can't not. Although, honestly, I'm having a hard time applying it to myself and my own situation.

Let me back up a minute and explain what I believe feminist mothering is. It's all the usual feminist ideas and ideals (women are as capable as men at intellectual pursuits and are righteously due equal opportunities and pay for their skills and work in addition to protection of these rights), but it's also about the lens through which I teach and raise my son. Although I am in a traditional role, my husband and I are equal partners in our relationship and life; I am not subordinate to his work-outside-of-the-house role in our lives. My son will grow up knowing this. He will see me as a powerful force in our family. He will also see me being proud of being a woman, embracing all that comes with it, and believing that partnerships are born out of complementing one another, not dominating. And, maybe most importantly, it's about instilling the belief that mothering and all things associated with it are high in status and equal to work not related to mothering.

It sounds lovely, right? But, despite pretty much living up to my intellectual belief system, I am having an extremely difficult time getting what I need by staying at home with an almost 2 year old.

I am certainly not short on meaning in my life or pride in my work. I'm all full of love and wonder and happiness and [mostly] confidence on that front. However, I am also lonely, uninspired, unstimulated, and a little bored.

All these feelings have been on the horizon of my mental grasp, too difficult to bear, until recently when I had a come to Jesus moment and questioned the very foundation on which all of my current life is based: my marriage. I questioned the logic of relying on one person for everything for the rest of my life and realized what a red herring argument that was. It's not my marriage - no one person can possibly be my everything - it's ME.

I've let myself down completely and now I am virtually stranded alone with a toddler day in and day out. No friends, no support system of peers, nothing. And I love this toddler with every fiber of my being and it breaks my heart to say that caring for him is not enough for me, but there it is. Somehow it's just not. And my imperfect marriage is also not the cause of my unrest, isolation or sadness. It's me and the fact that I've abandoned myself.

My biggest mistake has been my attempt to do everything perfectly all the time at the very high price of losing myself (not a very feminist thing to do, I might add). I am housekeeper (lo, housewife soldier), financier, teacher, social planner, mother, daughter, sister, and wife extraordinaire all the time. Rain or shine, happy or sad, willing or unwilling. No where in all of that have I given myself a moment to reclaim Jessica in any form, past or present.

I have a couple of theories on why this has happened and it's based on not only my experience, but those of my friends as well. First, women, because we must prove we are as good as men and as deserving as men, work twice as hard in all aspects of their life. And second, I'm tired of getting hurt and so have shut myself in.

Every woman I know, working or staying at home, drives herself like a lowly beast to be a better mother, a better cook, a better student, a better partner, a better everything. She sleeps and exercises less. She beats herself up on the rare occasion she goes out with friends or takes a run. And God forbid she nap (although, some women are certainly gifted at taking a nap, I don't know many that feel truly deserving of one and guilt-free when she wakes up).

On the other hand, men, who are raised possessing a self-confidence and acceptance of the validity and stability of good things in their life (as in, no one's going to leave him if he gains 50 lbs or he's not going to lose his job to a younger, better looking woman) are afforded an incredible ability to just let others handle things while they take care of their own needs: they nap, they shower, they eat, they exercise. They retain a strong desire to protect their personal needs from attending to family and work.

Obviously, I'm generalizing on all sides here, but the fact remains that the majority of the population can relate to these caricatures of gender, and you know what they say about stereotypes being a reflection of reality. And I know I'm all over the place, but hang with me...

I've mentioned it before, but I'm going to say it again: the feminist movement forgot something in their plight for equal recognition, rights, and pay. That the work women do in relation to child rearing and home management is as important as what men do outside the home. Because let's be honest, women bear the brunt of household work in most cases even if they work full-time (and then some). They come home and make dinner, shop, take care of the house, bills, kids, bath time, night time, middle of the night wakings and on and on.

Yeah! we get to slave at a desk job just like our male counterparts, but oh yeah, we also get to come home and KEEP DOING EVERYTHING WE'D BEEN DOING because no one thought to tell men they should be doing them too! Men are typically done when they get home. Women are just beginning their real work. And I've bought into this bullshit somewhere along the line even though I'm not leaving the house to work. I must take care of everything all the time. Do, do, do! Work, work, work! Push, push, push! I must prove to Anthony that I am busting my ass! Wha-?? How the hell did that happen? (And like Anthony even doubts it??)

And now here I am questioning what my life would be like if a) I worked outside the home in order to feel smart, intelligent, pushed, challenged and otherwise embraced as an adult as opposed to just a mother and wife and b) what would it be like if I never even had those aspirations in the first place? If I had been born 200 years ago and mothering and house management was the only role I could fulfill? Would I be happier if either of those things happened? Is the possibility of me doing even more work and being separated from Hollis really the answer? Is the possibility of just ignoring all my emotional and intellectual needs to only mother my son and wife my husband the answer?

No. And what stupid questions! I should be asking myself: How can I get more opportunities to recharge? What can I do to feel connected to people, adults again? Where can I go to find some solace? How can I carve out some balance in my every day life??

My mom bought me a book at Barnes & Noble the other day. It's called, "Stay Home, Stay Happy: 10 Secrets to Loving At-Home Motherhood."

Ugh.

It's not just a little bit embarrassing that my mother bought me this book, but I understand why she did. She knows I'm floundering a bit and wants to help. The thing is, I don't think it's the SAHM thing that I need to get happy with. I'm certain I need to give myself more credit for the work I do, but I really and truly am honored and happy to get to spend this time with Hollis and craft a loving, trusting relationship with him in the exact way I want to. What I really need is a book to tell me how to be a SAHM and still get the kind of stimulation I was used to (and needed!) for 30 years as a non-parent. "Stay Home, Stay Happy, Stay Sane: 10 Secrets to Loving At-Home Motherhood and Still Feeling Relevant as the Human Being You Are."

The other theory I have on why I'm angst-ridden and upset is because I don't want to get hurt by anyone. And by that I mean, "I don't want to put myself out there and get shat on by 'friends'." It's pretty straight forward. I'm a sensitive son-of-a-bitch and over time I've stopped putting myself out there for reasons of self-protection. I think it's time to put the armor back on and get my ass in the game. For my sanity's sake.

After mulling over on this for weeks now I feel confident in my new plan of action. I've joined no less than three Meetup.com groups for moms and parents and even went to my very first last week (it was a quick playdate at a nearby park and it was lovely and exhilarating). I'm at least aware of my feelings now and am questioning my standards of work and giving myself more slack (that's right "at work," as in here at the house). Anthony and I have spent hours talking about my malaise and unhappiness and he is actively changing his at-home trajectory for which I am eternally grateful and now feel more hopeful about our future as a cohabiting pair. And I've begun to open up to other friends and moms about my situation and feelings and have found that I am so far from being alone it's not even funny, and knowing that relieves some of my loneliness and makes me feel much less crazy.

So, there you have it. A lot of words just to say my head's up my ass and I'm painfully aware of it. I'm definitely a work in progress.

Anyone else feel this way??

I love laundry. No really, I do.

Get this freakishly adorable onesie at Threadless.

Hollis' laundry, that is.

I love shopping for it, of course that much is obvious, but I also love washing it, drying it, folding it, sorting it, and putting it away. I love organizing his drawers and closet and folding his teeny little socks into balls.

I was talking to a good friend of mine recently, a new mother, and was surprised she felt the exact same way. She LOVES doing her son's laundry, but can't be bothered with hers or her husbands. I feel the same way.

What is it about my baby's laundry and accompanying chores that makes my heart soar, but sink at the thought of doing my own??

All this reminds me of a conversation I had with Anthony when Hollis was still pretty brand new. Back then we'd give him a bath in the morning then I'd dress him. It was my favorite part of the day; picking out his little onesie and socks, pants, sweaters, whatever. The adorable factor was through the roof and I couldn't believe that I had a baby to dress!! To me, each meticulously picked out article of clothing was tangible evidence of my love. Anthony, on the other hand, saw it as just a means to an end: you gotta cover the baby with something, right?

I was shocked that he never said, "Hey, Jess, let me dress the baby today! It's my turn!" because I sure as hell would have if he'd been bogarting the dress-the-baby time all for himself. He just didn't get it.

It only took me a second to realize my entire life of owning Barbies, dressing my cats and dogs, playing "dress up" with my friends, obsessing with makeup and my appearance was all somehow an evolutionary dress rehearsal for getting immense pleasure in dressing my baby. I had such deeply rooted pleasure sensors at wrapping Hollis in blankets, putting booties on his feet, etc., that I couldn't separate my desire for dressing up my baby from Anthony's completely utilitarian approach and was totally shocked that it was just me.

Of course my motivation doesn't make me better, but it certainly makes me different from Anthony. I wonder if that's what my friend was feeling, too. Her husband wasn't thrilled at doing the baby's laundry or dressing him, either. Do other women feel this way, too?

It certainly occurs to me that this isn't the most feminist of ideas: that I'm "programmed" to enjoy dressing my child, but then again, maybe it is. I'm a product of the world I grew up in, all the social conditioning coupled with innate programming. Maybe I'm really enjoying what I, as a female, am supposed to enjoy doing. And that is a big aspect of feminist thought today: do whatever makes YOU happy and fulfilled (not the whole old "You are a feminist only if you reject the kyriarchy and do everything a man would do all on your own."). Evolutionary adaptation is about rewarding behaviors that contribute to the success of the species. Making sure your baby is well protected from the elements is certainly part of that process.

I dunno - certainly deep thoughts about baby laundry, I know.

As Hollis continues to grow my pleasure in clothing him and taking care of those clothes continues also. I don't know if there will ever be a time when I'm tired of touching and smelling his tiny t-shirts and itty-bitty jean shorts; there's literally nothing cuter to me during my daily hum-drum chore list than this.

Maybe by the time he's 15 and stinky and probably not as clean as I would prefer him to be he can start washing his own clothes. Until then I will happily dive into his little laundry basket of love and stay a while.

Dealing with my hate of advertising

This is so wrong on so many levels.

I am staunchly against "themed" toys. Anthony thinks I overreact to things like "pretty princesses" and our kiddie camping chair with Disney's Cars plastered all over it (I HATE it). But after years of studying advertising and its affects on a kid's perception of him- or herself and their world I think it's safe to say it skews things towards a marketer's world view. Not a realistic, humanistic view.

I think that McDonalds and the like, should not be allowed to include toys in their meals, or even cartoons. I think that Disney should stick to making movies and maybe a themed lunch box or two, maybe a pair of sheets, but not a whole suite of themed merchandise. We're just over saturated.

I remember having a set of Miss Piggy sheets and they were special. Is it special anymore to have a thousand things with a franchise plastered all over it??

Currently in our house it's not an issue, but I'm gearing up for it. I have to be prepared even though right now Hollis plays with a turkey baster and is happy. There will come a time when he might say, "Mommy, I want that Spiderman backpack" and I'll have to consider his little kid desires against my natural inclination to avoid brand-loyalty, consumerism, and sexism. Why won't he want the Wonder Woman bag?? Or the Cinderella bag?? (Although, maybe I'm not giving him credit and he may want one of those in which case I'll be thrilled he's following his own heart, but I'll still have to contend with the mass-branding of a money-making franchise...)

I was just at a good friend's house who has 2 1/2 year old twin girls and her living room was filled with "little girl" toys: mini high chairs and baby play pens for their dolls, all plastered with Disney princesses and in bright pink. I thought, "Will my living room one day be filled with a mini-garage set up in dark greens and blues?"

My friend is an opinionated, fiery feminist and plans fully on leading by example that women are equal to men, can do everything a man can do intellectually, and can do whatever their hearts desires, yet, her room was filled with stereotypically "girl" toys. Why was that?

"All this is from my mom," she explained with a laugh.

Aha! Exactly! And if I think to any stereotypically "boy" toys that Hollis might have it's usually from a friend or family member. Thankfully, no guns, yet. I think I'll just donate those outright (sorry, Granddad, if you had big plans on "shooting" things with your grandson).

I have another friend, again, another wickedly smart woman and feminist, whose 3 year old is obsessed with princesses. I laugh because of course she'd want to wear her tiaras and princess costumes all day every day. OF COURSE she would! And my friend lets her and it's wonderful and amazing and I know that this little girl will remember her childhood full of magic and fun even while she enters womanhood with a her mother's voice in her ear about how woman are powerful beings and can do anything they want in the whole wide world.

Will I have the presence of mind to be as kind with Hollis??

I've written countless papers on this stuff over the years, most notably I did research on the affects of advertising (images and otherwise) on girls relating to their body image and any eating disorders vs. the affects of their mother's views of their own bodies and a girl's body image and issues with eating. I wanted to know which had more weight in a girl's life: her mother or advertising.

In my research I found a stronger correlation between how a mother felt about her body and her daughter's body image than advertising's effects on a girls' ideas alone. Basically, a daughter will follow her mother's lead.

However, and this was very important, advertising could still be darkly superior in a girl's life if her relationship with her mother was not a good one.

Will commercials and movies dominate my child's choices if I am not a positively strong enough force in his life? Will he think he has to make everything into a gun? Will he think that men have to be masculine and never cry? Big and brawny? Tight-lipped?

I remember a study I read where given a stick, the boys would shoot with it or jab it; the girls would cradle it or coo to it. And all this with no former knowledge of stereotypes according to their parents who kept dolls and guns out of the home and only gave them gender neutral toys and books and they themselves considered their roles to be non-stereotypical (as in, they shared all chores and care giving). All this to say, Hollis has hard wiring in him that is totally foreign to me.

Right now Hollis loves his play kitchen and pots and pans, but he shows no interest in his doll, Lukas. He'll pick up sticks in the back yard and he pokes everything and swats at the cat. He doesn't cradle it or talk to it. He's started making motor noises for things and has them "drive" all over everything. I haven't seen any little girl do that at this age. And he's only ever watched a little Sesame St. on YouTube so where is he getting this?

I know he's a boy, but it's weird to see him shift from a gender neutral kind of little being into a more "boyish" figure.

What has been your biggest struggle in this department? Do you give in? Or do you draw the line at the brand-marketing and stereotyped toys??

I just hope I can keep up an intelligent dialogue with him on this stuff and not sweat the small stuff, like having a living room full of pink, princess toys.

Why do models have to be rail thin?

Marilyn at her biggest was reportedly a size 12. I'd like to see some starlet who tries to emanate her do it for real. I'd kill to look like this, by the way.

I just stumbled across an online Victoria's Secret pictorial and I'm curious: why do the powers that be think that showing their wares on tall, rail-thin women, who arch their backs and stick our their butts to get the illusion of curves, will actually get the average woman to the store? Is it because they think WE think we'll look like that if we buy it? I mean, will I look like this girl if I buy this thong? Will it look like that on my butt?? Will my butt become a perky present and my eyes get big like saucers?



Ugh. I just get so upset at the constant barrage of images of thin, thin, thin, toned, toned, toned, smooth, smooth, smooth ALL the flippin' time. When I let my guard down I am exhausted and sad. I try so hard every day to not buy into that bullshit, but it is relentless. If Dove didn't make me break out when I used it, I'd buy stock in the company just to say thanks for their curvy women ads.

Thanks, Dove.

I feel as though I'm in a life long Battle of the Bulge, pun intended. Why can't just one, ONE high end designer introduce a woman that would be considered beautiful before mainstream media existed? A woman who was soft looking, had rounded shoulders, an ample bosom and bottom. No clavicles, no sharp-edged shoulders, no pelvic bones. Think, "More cushion for the pushin'," and go from there.

I'd even say, Ok, go ahead and maker her 5' 11" if you have to, but keep her soft looking and don't call her "plus sized, fat, or overweight" and don't call the clothing she's wearing anything other than your designs. No, "A|X|+", Bagdley Mischka Speciale, or Mike Kors or something to let everyone know that she's wearing a "big girl" size.

That way one chubby little girl who loved fashion might see a realistic image associated with power, art, style, world-travel, and desirability. And she'd see her pudgy arms and round face and think, "Hey, the world thinks I'm beautiful just like my momma says!" and I could think, "Wow, we're making progress after all these years of starvation!"

Is it really necessary to show clothes on women who probably have them all pinned in the back? And I'm not hating on skinny ladies, because I know you are real people with hearts and sometimes get a bad rap from the rest of us with size complexes, but I'm just saying that the reason they're called "Super Models" is because there are only, like 12 of them in the whole world, so why are we seeing them everywhere? Technically, they're more rare than a shark attack and as fleeting as Big Foot. We shouldn't be seeing this as normal.

It makes me so sad that we all buy into this over and over. I know of no woman who loves her body, not even the tall, skinny ones. What has happened to us??

Why am I doing this again??

Every 5 or 6 weeks I wonder, "Why the fuck am I blogging??"

I mean, it's a ridiculously self-serving thing. I'm writing all about me, my life, my thoughts, my anxieties, my whatever.

And who am I?? Some chick in Austin, TX who doesn't get out enough.

Whose real-life friends are all but ghosts, visiting her on occasional late nights when schedules allow, and, she thinks, maybe it's because she sucks?

Whose husband would probably rather she NOT write as much and as honestly as she does, but who recognizes it as a good, solid hobby for her to have anyway.

Whose neuroses are, surely, pretty damn boring to read day in and day out and probably also have the unwanted effect of causing readers to think, "Oh my GAWD, there she goes complaining AGAIN!"

A woman who is embarrassingly insecure, but steadfast in her belief she'll not be some day.

A woman who pours her heart out and then somehow manages to limp along in the following days, hoping someone responds, and cringes all the while at her neediness.

A woman who delights in her baby and who is becoming desperate for another one, but she'll never tell you that for fear of jinxing the whole damned thing.

A woman whose heart is in San Francisco and only wants the rest of her there.

Whose self-depreciation knows know bounds and, she believes, this makes her a little uncouth in good company.

And then I ask, "What do I want this blog to be??" Ideally, it'd be a place where other moms, and friends, could see the wizard behind my curtain. Maybe I seem put together and confident. Maybe I seem to know it all and have it under control. I'd like for this to be a place for honesty and support, for me and for others.

I also want it to be a source of information for new moms. I scoured the internet for information when Hollis was born and I got a lot of crap, but I also found a lot of great stuff, and I've tried to showcase it here in an organized and readable way. I'm not a money-making site, so I'm not trying to be super slick, but I do want it to have rhythm and rhyme, so to speak.

I'd like to become more vocal about my beliefs, but often find myself intimidated by the fierce debates I read elsewhere. I absolutely believe that women need about a thousand times more support breastfeeding. I don't believe formula is "just as good as breastmilk." I don't believe in hitting children. I don't believe in the "cry it out" method. I believe whole-heartedly in attachment parenting, and child-led weaning. I believe the feminists forgot to say that "women's work" is equal to "men's work."

I want to be like Annie of PhD in Parenting. Or a little more like Noble Savage, or Mom-101. Women and parents who write with grace, intelligence and who seem to be fearless in their momentum; their research is flawless. I feel my writings are so little sometimes, so not worthwhile.

And then... (because of course a post like this has an "and then" moment) something miraculous happens because of this blog.

Even though I complain and am confused and often write ridiculous things like about how my son ate his umbilical stump or how my husband gave me tulips once, or I'll be a real downer and write about my dad or losing Levi, people I've never met still read and they comment and they reach out and touch me.

Like Loukia of Loulou's Views who comments on all my posts and emails me when I've been incommunicado. Or Noelle of Baby in Broad who was the very first person to add me to her blogroll, and that little thing somehow made my freakin' day that a total stranger, someone trying to do virtually the same thing as me, thought my site was worth a nod. Or when Noble Savage, a blogger I really admire, tagged me in a meme - again, something so little and insignificant, but still made me think that maybe my blogging attempts really aren't going into a blackhole after all.

And, lastly, of course my real life friends, the ones who are ghosts by virtue of their locale, not their schedules, email me and call me and chat excitedly about my writings. They are so grateful to be able to see into my life and they think I'm so funny and insightful and Thank You for posting about the vaccination thing because I wasn't sure what I was going to do, but now I'm thinking about it in a whole new way!

They see likeness in my stories and theirs and they see solace in our shared experiences. As my friend just told me, "I feel like even though our situations aren't identical, we are still all going through the same things," and it makes her feel less alone in her own experience.

It's exhilarating and wonderful to hear and I feel pride in what I'm doing. Maybe I'll keep blogging after all... reaching even one friend, real or ethereal, is well worth the effort to continue stretching myself publicly. I'm an extrovert, I know this. I won't keep apologizing for this particular decadence. I'll just need to let it feed my soul. Because you can't overfeed your soul. Not even a little bit.