I have a weird name.
Those Negative Nancys that say you have to flush your social life once you procreate are as full of shit as the poop they’re pouring on your parade. You don’t get the luxury of telling the rest of the world to kiss your ass as you hunker down in your baby bunker for the next 18 years; you’re just no longer allowed to CHOOSE the faces that will drive you to drink on a daily basis.
No, once you pop out a pup you are forced to mingle with OTHER mom-like beings. And once that little manure machine gets to preschool… THEY pick the moms FOR you.
Having other children around to keep yours out of your ass for an hour or two is fantastic… having to make small talk and compare diaper dramas with adults you’ve never done body shots off of in your last, KID-FREE life is freakin’ exhausting.
I’m not ashamed to admit I’m antisocial. In fact it’s one of my best qualities; people are gross. Unfortunately my daughter is one of those proverbial social butterflies. She has cronies at all corners of the city, and none of them are orphans. They all come equipped with unique blends of moms and grandmas that want to shoot the shit over endless steaming cups of liquid laxative while the little ones frolic gaily and I contemplate how to gnaw through a major artery without interrupting my coffee companion’s riveting Pap smear story.
I’m not trying to rush the whole growing up gig; we all know it goes WAY too fast on its own. But I crave the day that one of my kid’s classmates can come out without the constant companionship of their guardian-types. There’s nothing worse than asking a fellow forebearer if their kid can come to play and having them say, “Sure, WE’LL be over soon.” You can’t just rescind your invitation; suddenly you’re the WING MAN for your progeny’s play date, and chances are the two of you will NOT be as compatible as your kids.
I can appreciate the puny people. All they want out of life is to have fun and eat junk food; admirable ambitions, if you ask me (which you didn’t). But ADULTS… I can’t deal with us assholes. We feel like we always have to TALK, and SMILE. That shit is ANNOYING. Silent stoicism gets a bad rap, but I assure you, it is bliss.
So, as I have yet to find a mom-mate that I mesh well with, I have composed a personal ad that will hopefully find me a suitable partner in play dating:
MOM SEEKING MOM, FOR LONG-TERM ALLIANCE. MUST BE ABLE TO SIT DOWN AND SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR HOURS ON END. WILLINGNESS TO LEAVE THEIR OFFSPRING IN MY SOLE CARE ON OCCASION A PLUS… I HAVE KEPT MY OWN KID ALIVE FOR 5 YEARS, YOURS *SHOULD* SURVIVE THE AFTERNOON. MUST VOW TO NEVER DISCUSS THE WEATHER, POLITICS, RELIGION, OR GREY’S ANATOMY. SERIOUS INQUIRIES ONLY. APPLY ONLINE AT http://kimmydee-pitchabitch.blogspot.com/.
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Fuck you Romance, with your roses and sweets,
Everyone’s got a PET PEEVE. Some shit that just ruffles your feathers and gets your eyes redder than a mandrill’s ass. It’s dreadful, and can range from your Mother-In-Law’s pesky habit of breathing to the synthetic death grip of your too tan, control-top pantyhose.
So, I often try to share somewhat relatable, mostly embarrassing “Have you ever..” posts with you guys, and from what I’ve found… I’m not alone. It seems, no matter how diverse our parenting styles may be, where we’re from, or what we believe in, there’s still that one thing that connects us all….
A touchy subject? Well, maybe but since I really just don’t know how to tip-toe around shit, fuck it, here it goes:
Why the hell is it the only part of our kids bodies we give a nick-name to? We tell them they’re ‘private’, we tell them to ‘cover ’em up’, we tell them not to ‘talk about them in public’ yet we give privates a cutesy-ass little name….
I mean “Weeeeeee!!” Isn’t that what they say when they go down a really fun slide??
Yeah, but ‘don’t talk about your wee wee’, and definitely ‘don’t touch it while you’re going down the slide!!!’
Vagina — there are SO MANY names I won’t even pick one, but most of the ones I’ve heard sound either like the name of a cute cartoon character or a childhood pet, we call it “ToTo” over here for instance… Wizard of Fucking Oz anyone??
So why do we do this?
Are we that uptight about kids discovering their privates that our coping mechanism to deal with the ’embarrassment’ of something that is totally normal is to buffer it with a word like “pooter”?
Are we ‘naming’ privates for THEIR sake or is it something that makes US feel safer?
Are we afraid that if our three year old says ‘penis’ in public they will come off as knowing something about sex in some way?
Do we think that our daughters using the word ‘vagina’ sexualizes them in some way?
Does this image make YOU feel uncomfortable?
We don’t approve of attention being brought to their private parts but we seem to single out those parts at the same time.
I’m not sitting here with any answers. I just was thinking about why, we as parents, can be so different in so many ways as far as how we choose to raise our kids, yet do so many of the same funny things…
I guess there IS one thing that connects many of us……….. the society we live in…..so tell me, what does that say about our society??
Just a little something to ponder.
One more thing I need to get off my chest…completely unrelated, and in fact, it’s bothers me waaay more then nick-naming private parts.
Since when the fuck are we supposed to give out party bags on our own kids birthdays???? When I was growing up, going to a birthday party was awesome enough. I would have NEVER expected to get a gift on someone ELSES birthday!
It’s fucking bad enough that birthday parties have gotten so ridiculously expensive, and now I’m supposed to organize all these games and activities AND give these buggers a gift bag at MY kids party?!?!?
Happy birthday to YOU! Now, whatcha get US??
FUCK THAT. Ok, I’m done.
my children to feel close to me? To appreciate the sacrifices I have made to raise their asses?
We all know that being a parent is harder than a scrap of grilled cheese from under the couch five days old, but I think one of the hardest things for new parents to swallow, is being plunged into the deep dark depths of SLEEP DEPRIVATION.
der free criminal record. You see, for me as a MOM, that’s a WIN.