Practical Suggestions Part 1

I feel I've done enough ranting about online yahoos and crazed muthuhs for now, so I'm going to switch gears and make some practical suggestions. Can I refer to myself as a "been there done that" muthuh even though my kid is still in diapers? Sure I can! I've survived the first year, nearly two (as  has she), and I have lots of wisdom to impart about the few moments I remember. Here are some must-haves in case you're just starting out and are wondering what to have on hand for the first couple of years:

1. 150 bottles*
2. 175 bottle collars
3. 200 spill-proof bottle caps
4. 3,000 bottle nipples of varying flows
5. 15 cutting boards
6. 7 pizza cutters
7. 22 knives
8. 25 bottle cleaning brushes (these also clean sippy cups)
9. 75 sippy cups
10. 110 sippy cup tops (straw and regular)
11. A 12-pack of beer
12. Bananas

*Baby

Falling Pregnant

I've been thinking about the phrase "to fall pregnant" (and associated forms), and I plan to use it more just to mix things up. For me, it evokes the image of a Southern belle sitting on a windowside chaise lounge and fanning herself, waiting for the indignity of having a giant belly to be over so she can go back to afternoon mint juleps on the veranda with friends and acquaintances. I'm just not sure it works for my lifestyle, though. Could I say, "When I fell pregnant..." while eating chicken wings and drinking beer in a sports bar setting, especially if the other [unwitting] person in the conversation is a round middle-aged guy with a goatee who is glued to the football game? Well, I know I could, but I'd feel just a little silly unless I had something to offer regarding his fantasy team.

I like this wording for several reasons. First, it sounds really old-fashioned. It also acknowledges the finite control you have over your own body once a little critter has decided to take up residence and grow there for months on end, kicking off an uncomfortable spiral. It's almost a synonym for "succumb." Like you're giving up for the next 8 or 9 months, submitting your physical being to the arduous task ahead. Tripping clumsily into the pregnancy abyss, but it's only partially a result of your own doing. There are so many euphemisms associated with pregnancy and such an emphasis on the joy and the glow, so I really appreciate an odd phrase that reflects uncertainty and fear.

I did an Internet search to learn the origin of the phrase and ended up stumbling across a message board comprising angry "child-free" people who have a lot of disdain for kids, parents, and policies that benefit kids and parents. These malcontents do have a point, I admit: Kids are everywhere, they're loud, and they make a mess. Plus, a lot of their parents are fucking morons. That said, I have to wonder about someone who spends a big chunk of the day, day after day, ranting on the InterWeb about kids and people who have kids. It's a sort of community where everyone seems to know each other, and there's significant e-backslapping. I too have observed that a lot of parents are insufferable, inconsiderate doofu* who are all about kids and don't want to have a conversation that doesn't involve the subject of kids. I too find these people as tiresome as the child-free forum super-mega-member does (by "these people," I mean the kid video-bomb culprits and people who say "pasketti" instead of "spaghetti" and that sorta shit). I don't think having a kid disqualifies me from taking issue with certain aspects of objectionable parents and their demonic offspring. But I also acknowledge that humankind kinda needs a next generation. For example, I imagine that when I'm elderly, I'd like to be treated by a doctor who isn't also 89. And who's going to empty your bedpan when you're old and infirm, bratfreeandluvvinlife? A trained monkey? And who's gonna train the monkey? Keep in mind that the expression "to go apeshit" came from somewhere. Anyhoo, no one on that site seemed to know the origin of the phrase. (But fuck the child tax credit!) One language site suggested that "falling pregnant" is probably British and may have been intended to absolve the sperm supplier of responsibility or to suggest that the poor woman was acted upon by some force. Other than the obvious force of the guy & his epididymis.

So, the question remains: Is this phrase Victorian or something? Does anyone know? What image does this phrase conjure up in your mind?

Another question: Does anyone use smelling salts recreationally? Would that be a decent substitute for caffeine when you've overslept and need to get going in a hurry?

*doofu is the plural of doofus. My husband came up with it. I don't think he ever took Latin. But I like it.

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Fish

Albino bushy nose pleco. We don't need no furry animals!

My highly paid blog consultant (my albino bushy nose pleco, featured here) has suggested that I add pictures to my blog to broaden its appeal and give my 12 readers a break from paragraphs of straight text. I think this is good advice, so stay tuned for compelling images over the coming weeks. Those of you knowledgeable about tropical aquariums will notice some brush algae in the photo. I haven't been good about ridding the tank of this persistent eyesore. I blame being a groovy muthuh, but it's possible that I should budget my time better and clean out the tank rather than sip chardonnay and watch baseball on TV. Then again, muthuhblogs and articles are always emphasizing the importance of "me time," so the fishies might need to wait for the cleaning lady (i.e., me).

Anal When It Comes to Vehicles

Over the last few weeks, I've thought about minivans. I'm not sure I want one. I had a Facebook update within the last year in which I stated that I could see the practical appeal of a minivan. This admission brought many responses, some horrified at the very thought, some earnestly defending theirs or suggesting a cooler alternative (the Toyota Matrix, for example). Currently, I drive a phat '97 Maxima that wobbles a little bit, but it's a great car with lots of power and, as they say in used car listings, "many new parts." It was produced before the LATCH era. Its cup holders are too small for anything other than a paper coffee cup. Today's hipsters would probably call it retro and drive it ironically while wearing 80s Air Jordans.

I fantasize about vehicles a lot. I never really considered a minivan but have always had difficulty figuring out why even now, they're perceived as something to be avoided unless you wear jeans from LL Bean, have a permed bob, and allow your offspring to have popcorn on a rainy weekday after school. I can say that I would have bought one at just about any time if the price was right. In fact, that's how I ended up with a 1987 Cadillac DeVille in 1997. I'd been looking for something economical, like a Corolla or a Sentra, but gas-guzzling fate intervened: Elma F's old car, a trade-in, was up for sale, in fine condition and smelling strongly of lavender. It was a comfy ride, and the A/C worked great (the car it would replace had no A/C, and this was in Phoenix in June). For better or for worse, it screamed old lady from the inside out; the whitewalls and wire wheel covers put it firmly on the senior citizen side of the "old lady - gangsta" spectrum, which was OK with me. Bonus: The hood ornament had been harnessed to the horn so that anyone eyeing my ride for a free Caddy medallion via criminal means would be in for a loud and annoying surprise. Unfortunately, the homespun alarm sometimes went off at inopportune times, like at the car wash, at the Dunkin' Donuts drive-thru (Hurry up, man! I need my Coffee Coolatta!), or in the middle of the night during a rainstorm.

Getting back to minivans, since I've been thinking about something roomier than a sedan, my subconscious brain has been scanning streets, highways, and parking lots for sensible-looking possibilities. I've been brought back to the fun, somewhat juvenile road game introduced to me a few years ago by my old friend Miss Green: inserting (if you will) the word "anal" in front of a vehicle model name. I've discovered that minivans do quite well in this category. Anal Odyssey, Anal Quest, Anal Astro. On a related subject, Fords are the overall best make for the anal game: Anal Expedition, Anal Explorer, Anal Probe (of course), Anal Escort, Anal Edge, Anal Fusion, Anal Fiesta. And so on. If only we were in Europe, we could have the (Toyota) Anal Picnic! Perhaps this isn't a good way to choose a vehicle. The Anal Maxima will have to suffice for now. If an automaker came up with an electric or hybrid—say, the Plug—I might just have to rethink my criteria.

Forward-Facing Muthuh: I Need a Posting Helmet

The hot-button issue for mothers of toddlers on BabyLoony these days isn’t quite what I would have expected. It’s not extended breastfeeding, discipline, daycare, bottles, vaccinations, nannies, pacifiers, junk food, or even spanking. It’s whether to rear-face or front-face a convertible car seat. This topic was introduced a year or so ago, when the portliest of fall 2010 babies were approaching 20 pounds, the weight minimum for front-facing in an appropriately designed seat. (CYA alert: The age minimum to forward-face is one year, even if junior hits 20 pounds at five months.) I remember the first thread I saw about this, posted by a true BabyLoony ingenue: “Now that my big boy is 20 pounds, I’m ready to have him face forward! I can’t wait to be able to see him in the rear-view mirror!” Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the replies were cataclysmic. I’ll just say that almost no one simply said, “Hold your horses, mamabear_cheddarhead. You need to wait until your big boy is a year old to turn him around.” I suspect that a few people tried to pinpoint her exact location so they could show up at her door and slap her around like the hysterical lady in Airplane!

Even now, with our kiddos* nearing two, the tenor of these discussions, which are a regular occurrence, continues to be shrill in the extreme. For better or for worse, I can't say I've seen any any cum guzzlers emerge from this controversial topic, but it's certainly not too late. Every few days, someone will post, “Am I the only one still rear-facing my LO?” or “Who’s still rear-facing?” or “Why are people endangering their children? Just to let you all know, I’m not” or “MOM'S WHO FORWADR FACE: U NEED TO WATCH THSI VIDEO!!!!!!!!!” I think I’ve seen about 50 polls on the subject, and approximately 95% of the respondents proudly declare that they’re still rear-facing, and if you’re forward-facing your kid, you obviously don’t give a shit about his safety and you may as well set up a meth lab next to his crib. (“What? Your kid is in a bed already? Are you out of your fucking mind?!”)

There’s certainly a self-selection bias among thread participants because surely no one in her right mind would admit to front-facing her 20-month-old and subject herself to the holy wrath of mommy_to_three_little_darlings_1987 and her biggest fan, omg_babiesbabiesbabies7112. One of the worst offenders in all of BabyLoony claims that her 8-year-old is still rear-facing “and totally loves it.”

Before I go any further, I would like to state that I am not a reckless person. I wear seatbelts, lock doors, and always look at the expiration dates of perishable food items. My insurance agent teases me about my sky-high underinsured motorist and liability coverage levels. I try to avoid confrontations with unkempt gruff guys with multicolored beards and t-shirts indicating a deep affinity for firearms. I drive really slowly around my condo complex, but mainly because I have asshole neighbors who are convinced that no one else could possibly be coming the other way around a corner. But I find the strong feelings on the subject of car seat placement, and the extent to which people get their panties in a wad about it, mystifying.

I don’t know at what point people became so judgmental about this sort of thing. When I was a kid, and even into high school, bicycle helmets for adults and kids weren’t that commonly used, at least in my ‘hood in a Boston suburb. In fact, helmets were considered dorky. Of course, the bike helmets of yesteryear (i.e., the 80s) were a lot heavier and more cumbersome than they are now, and the classic Bell bike helmet looked like a European hard hat from the 70s and was probably twice the weight. Now they’re sleek and lightweight with cool designs, and you barely notice you’re wearing one. Anyhoo, I get that people really should wear bike helmets, especially kids. Their acceptance is a big step forward safety-wise. I also take issue with those stupid posts you see on Facebook, formerly on various message boards and in forwarded e-mails: “When I was a kid, we didn't wear bike helmets, we roller-skated without knee and elbow pads, skinned knees meant it was summertime, we didn’t have play dates, we just played outside with our friends, and we drank from rusty garden hoses and sewers, we gleefully swam in polluted lakes and rivers, and we were beaten with belts, which developed character, we said please and thank you and didn’t tell our CCD teacher to fuck off like today’s kids do, and our school nurse could give us a Quaalude, SHARE if you remember playing Red Rover and going home with a spinal injury and blurry vision, and your mom said, ‘Eat your damn peas!’” I hate that shit. Bike helmets are a good thing! As are seatbelts, motorcycle helmets, and avoiding smoking in bed (and checking your fire alarm periodically). But calling someone who positions a convertible seat front-facing a child abuser? I can’t help but think that some of these extended rear-facing (that’s a term they use, and with pride) muthuhs are the same giant-SUV-driving bitches I see “multitasking” on the road. And one of these tasks is drifting in and out of the HOV lane at 80 mph. 

*Notice that I say “our” like I’m one of these loonies. See? They suck you in, and next thing you know, you’re one of them, looking for carseats at WalMart.com because you’re too much of a scaredy-cat to set foot in your local store, and you use terms like LO and kiddo and DD and DH.

Note: Screen names have been changed to protect the innocent...and idiotic.

Smug Muthuhs on the InterWeb

Boy are there a lot of smug muthuhs on the InterWeb. I know this isn’t news to anyone even vaguely familiar with muthuh-focused online forums, but I didn’t realize what I was in for when I started browsing through “Holy shit, the test is positive” threads. It’s hard to believe that less than 20 years ago, know-it-all mothers had no choice but to limit their audience to newspaper and magazine letter-to-the-editor readers and the occasional unfortunate person  on the receiving end of a parking lot finger-wag or supermarket checkout line eye-roll. The most aggressive mothers may have used a megaphone to tell parents at the park to get their kids off the see-saw—don’t they know it’s dangerous?! Nowadays, the Internet is positively infected with indignant mothers, many of them completely batshit and intent on telling you—uncaring, idiotic, selfish, ignorant, unthinking mother—everything you’re doing wrong, why your kid is going to grow up to be a failure (if he or she manages to grow up at all), and why you should be more like she is.

For a good long while, I thought that the comment sections following online news articles, as well as pretty much any forum with an Off Topic section, constituted the epicenter of self-satisfied screeds. Often these comments have a political flavor; common contributors are the “personal responsibility” fuckwits and the “I bought my first house at 22 with no help from my parents” assholes. We also have the frugal types: “If you buy a car newer than five years old, you’re the world’s biggest idiot and may as well wipe your ass with $100 bills and chuck them down the toilet” and “When we were kids, we were happy playing with wooden spoons in the yard, and now kids need iPads! What is this world coming to?!!?” But none of these people hold a candle to the multitude of Queen Mother Smuggy McSmuggersons on BabyLoony.*

This blog could easily consist entirely of descriptions of the unbelievable stuff being discussed by mothers. In fact, it very well may! I clearly need a narrower focus, and maybe that’s it. I’ll showcase my own form of smugness by exposing the smugness of others. Why not?

*BabyLoony is my catch-all term for the popular message boards for mothers. They vary a bit from one to another, but their similarities put them in the same loony category. The major players are: CafeMom, JustMommies, The Bump, iVillage Pregnancy & Parenting, What to Expect, and the heavyweight, BabyCenter. Obviously not everyone who reads and contributes to these sites is a wack job, but who tends to stand out: the helpful person who provides a clear, dispassionate answer to a question, or the loony-tune who refers to her mother-in-law as a cum guzzler because she gave little Tommy a popsicle before dinner?

Guys and Babies

Recently I read an online discussion involving several boorish guys. The topic was how to use kids and babies, your own or others', to land chicks. The exchange took place in the Off Topic section of a nonparenting site. "A guy pushing around a stroller with a kid in it is a total chick magnet! It totally breaks the ice, and next thing you know, you and some hottie are back at your place banging away!" There was no mention of such practical considerations as who would look after the kid during this activity. Maybe the assumption is that a bored neighbor, like Mrs. Roper from Three's Company, would roll her eyes and then take the baby for a few minutes (something told me that the guys engaging in this discussion were two-stroke Charlies), just to annoy her husband. I knew that the conversation's participants were baiting somewhat, hoping to draw in indignant ladies until a shit-flinging battle of the sexes was under way. All I could think of, of course, was that chicks—old ladies, young beauties, high-powered career bitches—love babies. I'm a 38-year-old chronically tired mother who dresses like a 12-year-old boy in 1997 and probably drinks too much. I'm usually annoyed, avoid eye contact, and could be described as feral on a Sunday morning. But people still come over, smile at the baby, and want to strike up a conversation with me. They ask how old she is and compliment her pretty smile. I mentioned this to the desperados, emphasizing that the attraction is the kid and not the dickwad pushing the stroller. I also suggested trying this experiment with a gallon of Mogen David in the stroller instead of a baby. They said I was bitter and delusional.