I thought I’d share this article I found on The Age today.
Powerful stuff and interesting commentary on the world in which we live (and love).
A letter to my pregnant, child-less self – re-blogged from scarymommy.com
Too good not to share!
Taken (in full) from http://www.scarymommy.com
(Image: www.scarymommy.com)
Dear Judgey McKnows-It-All,
Right now, your due date is approaching, and you’re hyper focusing on a lot of insignificant stuff. I wish you knew that none of what you are worrying about matters. What you need to do is go to bed now and sleep until the baby comes. It could be your last chance to sleep for a few uninterrupted hours for the rest of your life.
What’s that you say? You’re not sleeping well because the pregnancy is making you so uncomfortable? Think again my friend. Soon you will be lying awake at 3 am in a pool of baby vomit, but you won’t want to move a muscle for fear of waking your precious little bundle of “sleeps when held.”
While we are on the topic of useless shit (pun intended) that you are obsessing over, it seems as though you are sitting around wondering if you’ll poop on the table during delivery. Guess what? When the time actually comes, you won’t care if fecal matter ends up on the ceiling as long as they get that baby the hell out of you faster than a teenage boy gets off on the latest Victoria’s Secret catalog.
Oh, and that book you’re reading on natural birth? Quit wasting your time with it and pick up a copy of What the Fuck Do I Do with this Baby? because once you’re actually in labor, you’ll tap out at three centimeters and beg for curbside epidural service as you pull into the hospital. Besides, the delivery is only one day, and the baby will be here for a l-i-f-e-t-i-m-e. Your time would be better spent learning something about child rearing rather than practicing breathing techniques that will do nothing for the pain, although, they might come in handy for your first bowel movement post childbirth.
On another note, you seem to have a lot of opinions on parenting right now, but you will quickly realize that you have no idea what you’re doing which reminds me that I should warn you about the bitch that Karma is. For all of the judgments you make now about other people’s parenting techniques, you will be sentenced to a lifetime of mom guilt laden thoughts. So, keep judging your friend who leaves her kids at daycare an extra hour so she can shop or cook by herself. In just a few short months, you will find yourself wishing daycare was open on weekends too. And the woman you saw at the grocery store in the frozen foods aisle whose nipples were pointing in different directions? Nice job criticizing her to your husband. Karma is about to replace your tots with 2 National Geographic style tube socks each holding a teeny, tiny ping-pong ball.
So, have that extra slice of cheesecake now while you’re still delusional. You think you are all belly, but it’s going straight to your ass. And, by the way, you won’t be one of those lucky women who loses weight from breastfeeding. You will be the mom whose kid shows up everyday for preschool without his folder, mismatching clothes, and maybe even a little bit of food still on his face while you’re wearing a moo moo not fit for your grandmother. Memories of a daily shower will seem as magical as monkeys flying out of your ass and serving you mojitos on the white sands of Maui. Soon, going to the dentist will be the most relaxing thing you have time for. You will see.
After the baby is born, between caring for him, your new found realization of what a dipshit your husband can be, and your post partum hormones, you will be so overwhelmed that you’ll start popping birth control like skittles just to make sure you don’t have a second child. Then, one night over a box of Franzia’s finest, you’ll find yourself just loopy enough to do it again.
There is only one thing that will get you through the stretch marks, the puke stains, and the depression over your saggy post birth vagina – the love that, right now, you are unaware even exists.
So hold onto your mom jeans and try not to wet your pants while you still have some level of bladder control – this ride is just beginning. Stop being a judgmental bitch and start supporting other moms. You’re going to need them once you realize that you don’t have a fucking clue what you’re doing…
Love, Me
Kelly is a mom, wife, writer, smart-ass, recovering perfectionist, and blogger extraordinaire. She likes long walks at night with her crying baby, a tall bottle of Chardonnay with naptime, and peeing by herself on occasion. You can read more by her on her new blog, In The Mom Light.
An article in a similar thread to my first post [https://theviewfrommywashingline.wordpress.com/2012/07/31/i-am-not-talking-about-weight-loss-and-other-conversations-im-missing-out-on/] on this blog. Glad I’m not the only frustrated one!
I am going to lose it completely.
Some of you read Kristen Lamb, who writes a blog about writing. It’s extremely popular and usually very helpful. But her latest post was a digression — an extended piece about being a size 10/12 and why she feels fat:
I am healthy, have beautiful skin and hair. I have enough energy to power a small city and am never sick, but I am still a size 10-12 and 170 pounds.
Why is it no one looks like me?
When we look on TV, we are confronted with extremes–super skinny or clinically obese. We are calling anorexics “beautiful” and calling dangerously obese women “curvy.” We are an a country that is dying because of euphemisms. I hear parents call morbidly obese children “husky,” “big-boned” or “muscular.” We have retailers calling anorexics “curvy.”
I get it. I’ve written about this as well.
But, seriously…
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This is from my marketing blog but definitely relevant to this blog too.
Cruising one of my fave websites inc.com looking for blog fodder I noticed that their most viewed article is titled “9 Daily Habits That Will Make You Happier”. That’s nice isn’t it? We all just want to be happy.
And we do. It’s true. Reading the list, however, I realised that many of those habits wouldn’t necessarily make me happier. I’m not saying it won’t work for many people, I’m just saying they wouldn’t work for me.
The one-size-fits-all approach doesn’t work for happiness, just as it doesn’t work for marketing.
See, the author of that article doesn’t know me and doesn’t know what makes me happy. Nor do the people who try to sell me stuff much of the time.
There’s a catch cry in our house when we see poorly-executed TV adverts “well, I’m not in the target audience”. And I’m not, much of the time.
Some…
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Even though I’ve never met you, I couldn’t do it without you
- Credit: Tulip Flare photography
Photo credit: Tulip Flare photography (another WordPresser).
It started with conception, and although we’d never met, three years on I considered this group of amazing, inspiring and beautiful women to be some of my best friends.
In April 2010 I found out I was pregnant. It was a wonderful new adventure most of my friends had never experienced, so, in a new home town and with a background in media, the internet was the natural place for me to turn for support. I joined the forum at essentialbaby.com.au and found the ‘What month are you due’ subforums. There, you can join a group of women who are all expecting around the same time as you; you form a mini community, just made up of women who are experiencing the same things you are.
It was in those ‘What month are you due?’ subforums that I found the group “Due December 1-15”. That group became a source of celebration and laughter, grief and tears as a group of around 20 women came together under the shared auspice of a common due date. Even when one of the girls’ due date was changed to November she asked to be permitted to remain in the group, as we’d already become such good friends. This friendship group wouldn’t have come together under any other circumstances: transcending distance, social and economic conventions, had we met as a group of strangers in real life we would never have hit it off. But freed of the usual expectations of friendship, we didn’t have to worry about forgotten birthdays or trying to arrange catch-ups in packed social calendars. Instead, on the internet, we were free to just be, well … us.
From nipples to nappies, pimples to perineums, we shared everything; these women now know me better than many of my “off-line” friends. Just as social media allows young people to share too much of themselves, it allowed us to openly share all of ourselves and our experiences with our new-found friends.
First-timers utilised the wisdom of the old hands who were on their third or fourth child for advice on all things pregnancy-related. Questions about niggling pains and how best to deal with stretch marks were met with sage advice, as were questions about recommended support for our expanding bust lines and concealing baby bumps.
And we weren’t only there for the light stuff, either; changing relationships with partners, threats of job loss and budget worries were all shared. When one of the women in the group tragically lost her child at the end of the first trimester we were all there for her, offering support, sympathetic words, and, in my case, crying silently in my office. Our only method of physical support was to buy bears in the baby’s name from the Teddy Love Club.
Following that life-changing event, our relationships really intensified. These “girls online” were my go-to people for all of life’s highs and lows: a bad day at work, an argument with a partner, birthday celebrations. Children’s milestones were celebrated with a flurry of online activity.
I was one of the first to “pop”. We’d set up a phone tree so our online friends would be duly informed of our news, so they’d know that our internet silence was due to the heady first days with our new loves and that we were safe and well.
As more babies arrived the online activity slowed, and as December 15 drew near – when we wouldn’t have a formal area just for us on the forums anymore – I felt that my days with these women were numbered. I knew I would mourn their company. What about that person whose child was starting school? What about so-and-so’s husband’s new job? I’d formed a deep bond with these women and wasn’t about to just give that up. Even though I’d never met them, I couldn’t do it without them.
But of course we decided to stay in touch, still using the internet to stay in each other’s lives. There’s now 14 of us in our Facebook group, and we share online just as you would share with your “off-line” girlfriends; recipes, fashion advice, photos and a vent over a wine or two. First kicks became first steps, there were another four babies born, and another two babies on the way – all without even having met in real life.
Finally we decided we needed to meet, and seven of us managed to spend a two days together in July 2012. A logistical nightmare, we had ladies and babies flying in from Sydney and Queensland, trekking with car seats in tow from Adelaide and Gippsland, all to congregate in Melbourne.
It was wonderful, with a lot of wine and a lot of laughs. All of us mums had clearly built up such intimate relationships online that we naturally fell into close girlfriend relationships offline, and it was fantastic to meet all the babies and see their gorgeous personalities in real life. We all helped each other get the overexcited toddlers to sleep, calming them when they cried, helping them share their meals and stop stealing each others’ dummies, showering them all together. It was what I imagined village life would have been like, back before we all lived in individual family units.
Our meet-up is definitely something we’d like to do annually. I know the girls who live in Newcastle, Perth and the UK who weren’t able to make it were there with us in spirit, but next time we’d love to include everyone.
Until then, it won’t be goodbye forever … just until we post the photos on Facebook!
I am not talking about weight loss (and other conversations I’m missing out on)
This year I made a pact with myself (and my fellow man and woman) that I will no longer participate in conversations that discuss weight loss, weight gain and other some such chatter that places the value of the person in their appearance.
Needless to say I don’t stand around the water cooler much any more.
Our seemingly inane chatter about our appearance has become so pervasive that by making a conscious effort to not participate has starkly highlighted its insidiousness and made it all the more irritating to me!
I have grown tired of people evaluating others on their appearance. Of course, appearances are the easiest thing on which to judge a person; the visual (unless you are visually impaired) is the first impression you receive of another individual and appearance is something we can all relate to.
Why is it that I know so many talented, intelligent, articulate people whose self esteem is undermined by the number on a scale? I know perfectly healthy women (BMI-wise) with university degrees, high-paying jobs and wonderfully loving husbands whose day can be ruined by 500g weight gain.
Ridiculous? Yes, I think so, too.
I then see articles such as Our Obsession with Plus Size Role Models which purports to empower women to ignore the stereotypes of plus- or minus- size and embrace the norm, only to have the goal of this thinking presented to me as feeling attractive. To whom?
When will women stop comparing themselves to celebrities, models, etc. whose job it is to look good? If I spent as much time on my appearance as I do at work I’d look freakin’ amazing (and I’m sure you would too)! But I don’t and I wouldn’t even if I had the time (and the money). There are better things to do with this life than to spend it in the gym, make up artist’s chair, hairdresser’s.
I have a daughter; a grave responsibility in this day and age. I hope that she won’t obsess about her looks and concentrate on contributing to society instead. However I know this is a pipe dream.Growing up in this image-obsessed era it is unlikely the preoccupation with appearance will pass her by. I will take the time to remind her of the fads and phases of “what makes a woman attractive” through the ages; in Mediaeval times it was “in” to be plump (as it demonstrated wealth); in the 1920s being flat-chested was the “thing”; in the 1990s (when I was young and impressionable) it was heroin-chic.
Call me hypocritical. Yes I wear make up, dye my hair, etc. but I will endeavour to equip my daughter with a sense of her own worth beyond the disappointment she feels when comparing herself to (manipulated) pictures in magazines.
I hope her sense of self worth is placed beyond the physical and into the intellectual and societal as those contributions are so valuable.
What will you tell your daughter?
[Constructive] criticism is always welcome.
A mummy blog with a different view
Well, here I am world! As everybody else seems to be doing it, why can’t I? So I am and I did. I have created another mummy blog. Hopefully with some new and interesting perspectives on life, love, parenting, etc. which hopefully won’t be horribly neglected and left to rot in the annals of interweb history. May you hear from me again, audience of one, and grow and prosper to be an audience of many.
-J
The View From My Washing Line 