Women vs. Women

A few days ago, someone who shall remain unidentified came by our house for a visit. While she was here, she lamented over recently having to go to a local county office, which happened to be in the same building as other social services such as Medicaid, food stamps, welfare, WIC etc.

Them: “Ugh, it was so disgusting. The people were so GROSS. I just wanted them all to get away from me. Ugh. The nastiest people (Translation: poor people) you’ve ever seen sitting all around me. And this big woman next to me just pulled her enormous boob out and started feeding her baby — RIGHT NEXT TO ME!”

Me: What was she supposed to do? Her baby needs to eat.

Them: Well, I know but it was so big and her dress was torn and…

Me: She can’t help how big her boob is. Why does it matter?

Would it have been okay for a small-breasted woman to publicly feed her baby? Because this isn’t the first time I’ve heard a large-breasted woman be criticized for public breastfeeding.

Them: She was just so nasty. She should have used a little blanket or something, like you used to do…

NOTE: I haven’t done that since my first baby was about two weeks old. The blanket thing got old REAL fast.)

Me: *blink*

This is not someone I want to get into an argument with and no matter how skillfully I would have argued the point that breasts, big or otherwise, are not dirty or gross and do not need to be treated as shameful things, I don’t think it would have mattered so I didn’t. I just brewed over it instead.

Am I being a hypocrite and judging her right back?

Uh…yeah, I guess I am. How could I not?

And as I sit in judgment, so high and mighty, I have questions…

How do we alter an entire culture’s backward social mores and puritanical thinking?

Why are women less offended by being objectified as sexual things than they are by the sight of a woman nursing her baby?

How do you make people, women even, understand and accept that breasts are not naughty body parts that only exist to arouse men or sell beer (or any number of other unrelated products) and that they are actually intended to serve but one function, which is to feed babies. Shocking!

Even more important, how do you get women to stop judging other women so harshly?

Sadly, I’m not sure us women will ever stop looking at each other with such harsh disdain. Other women, in a primitive, instinctual way, are the competition and we seem to be almost hardwired for it.

But Christ on a crutch…will we ever learn to just keep it to ourselves?

Mothering, breastfeeding, body image etc etc etc. There are an endless number of ways for us to throw each other under the bus.

Can we or will we ever learn to just NOT?

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Edited to add: Must be something in the air… Melanie shared a link in the comments to Bitch PhD who has a very interesting post that stems from a somewhat controversial post here by Ann Althouse. They are both very relevant to my post, but in different ways. If you have a moment, go read them. Feel free to come back and share your thoughts.

Move over, Rover and let Jimi take over…

I always thought I made a concerted effort to not let my personal preferences, desires and likes/dislikes about certain things rub off on my kids. I mean, if P wants to be an athlete even though I’m not a sportsfan, then so be it. If TQ wants to be a starving performance artist instead of an engineer or architect (for the better earning potential so she can take care of her parents in relative comfort when they are old and frail), fine.

Part of the reason I do this is because I don’t want to live vicariously through my kids on any level. I want them to have their own interests and hopes and dreams, instead of living out mine and the same thing goes for the clothes they wear.

Sure, I’d love to buy P a onesie that says “Boob Man” or “Vegas Baby” because they’re clever and funny, but he’s just a toddler and thus, he wears clothing befitting a toddler. One thing that really bugs me, though, is all that cliché boys clothing with sports-themed stuff all over it. It’s such a stereotype that boys are expected to like sports.

How about clothes with computers or scientific stuff on them for the kids we hope will be brainy? Or clothes with arts-themed things on them for all the kids we hope will be artistic and creative? Why just sports? Bah!

The same goes for TQ. I’m not too thrilled with shirts that say “I’m Cute” or “Princess” or “Spoiled” any of that crapola because, like the sports-themed clothing, it’s so stereotypical and cheesy.

Frankly, I’m holding out for the shirts that say “I’m smart” or “I have a black belt in common sense” or “I can play my (insert instrument of choice) better than you” rather than claiming her milkshake is better than yours or that she’s “100% Brat”.

Heh…it seems that despite my best-laid plans to let them make a few of their own choices, I just can’t stay out of it.

And apparently, we have influenced TQ quite a bit in other ways, too. The following conversations are 100% real and when I think about it, I have to laugh at how prematurely hip our daughter is at the ripe old age of almost 6 (in a harmless, non-Bratz dollz kind of way).

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Me: Hey TQ, do you know who that is? (pointing to the TV)

TQ: Hmmmmm (thinking) I can’t remember his name.

Hubz: You know…he plays ball with us sometimes.

TQ: (face brightens) Oh yeah, Jimi Hendrix!

Hubz: That’s right!

Jimi Hendrix plays ball with TQ and the huz… You heard it here first, folks.

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Scene: Brushing TQ’s long curly/wavy hair in her bedroom

TQ: (making various noises and complaints about her tangled hair as I brush it)

Hubz: We’re just going to stop brushing your hair and let you have dreads

TQ: Nooooo! I don’t want Ziggy Marley hair. Nooooo!

Hubz: How about if we let you dye it pink?

TQ: Oooooh yes! Stop brushing my hair, mommy! I want pink dreadlocks!

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TQ: Daddy? Can we listen to DJ Zinc (podcast) for a few minutes before I get ready for bed?

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I am secretly thrilled that my daughter knows who Jimi Hendrix and Ziggy Marley and DJ Zinc are. I hope having some cultural literacy about things beyond her beloved Barbies and Polly Pockets will serve her well.

I also hope that P will grow up to love whatever he loves, despite wearing clothing covered in baseballs, soccer balls and footballs. As a matter of fact, I think I’m going to start designing those science and art-themed fashions right now.

It occurs to me as I write this that what I’ve been doing is sort of inadvertently rebelling against gender stereotyping.

Is this a good thing? Or does it not even matter?

Hell…I don’t know. I just thought it was interesting that my kid likes cool music and wants pink dreads.

Channeling Vegetables

TQ: I don’t like onions.

Me: They’re okay when they’re cooked. Have you tasted them?

TQ: No

Me: Then how do you know you don’t like them?

TQ: I read their mind and they told me what they taste like.

Me: Oh, okay. *barely suppressing gales of laughter *

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Thanks to everyone for you kind words for The Story of P and all the happy birthday wishes for him. I appreciate it. We didn’t throw him a party because we’re going to have one this Wednesday at the beach. We’ll be there for four days doing our annual beach reunion with Hubz’s family. Frankly, that’s about 2 days too long for me. I’ve never lived more than 30 minutes from a beach but being all whitey-white like I am, I typically burn despite using copious amounts of sunscreen. Add a baby toddler (he took his first multiple steps this week!) and a 5 yr old and it’s really not my dream vacation but it will do. Hubz has been so grumpy lately, I hope he gets some R&R out of it and recharges his pissy batteries.

So yes, I’ll be away for a few days and since we’ll have a dial-up connection and one laptop between us, I doubt I’ll be getting much screen time. I’ll definitely miss reading all your blogs too much to not peek at a few but I’m pretty sure I won’t be doing much on the computer. I considered asking someone to guest post here but I don’t want to impose on anyone so I’ll probably just take a spin through the archives…

And because other than my son’s birth story, I haven’t been living up to my Mommy Blogger title and writing about my kids much at all, I’m going to start a monthly posting about them. I read a really good one the other day and it inspired me. I feel guilty that I’ve hardly done anything for P, in particular. No baby book or calendar, no photo albums; nothing but my monthly calendar with all his milestones scribbled on it. The second kid always gets the shaft… But I’m going to challenge myself and try to move past that. My memory sucks and P is impossible to video so blogging will have to do. And TQ, who was easily the world’s most photographed child before her brother was born, is growing up so fast, if I don’t document it now, I won’t have any record of her every having been this age. I’m wallowing in a bit o’ mommy guilt here. Can you tell?

Tomorrow will be packing day. It always takes a whole day to pack for the beach. I absolutely cannot stand it. I become ADD-Mom, running around, grabbing things willy-nilly; going into a room and forgetting what I went in there for and getting totally sidetracked by something else. And if that wasn’t enough, when we finally arrive at the hotel, I will realize about 10 things I forgot so it will be back out to Target to buy it all. So much for relaxing!

Speaking of packing, I don’t even know WHAT I’m going to do about BlogHer. That 15 lbs of baby weight I’ve been bitching about for a year is still with me, my wardrobe is for shit, my hair need serious help and I haven’t weaned P yet. I think I’ll save all that for another post. My plan was to be brief but if you come here with any regularity, you night have noticed I don’t do brief very well…lol

I doubt I’ll post again before we leave but please be sure to stop back while I’m gone as there will be something here, even if I’m not.

{{hugs to all}}

(I just finished this for Mrs. Mogul. I’ve been busting my booty all morning trying to get it done so I can start the nightmare known as packing and now I wish I hadn’t…)

PS: Did anyone get an email from someone named Chad Horton?
PSS: The next time I consider conceding to my inner skinflint and buying some bargain beach towels for TQ to take to camp, someone please remind me that after washing those pieces of crap, all my lighter colored towels (and my khaki shorts that somehow got mixed in) are now tinted blue and covered with a thick layer of blue, fuzzy lint from said shitty, cheap-ass towels and that it was so not worth it.

Life-Flavored Nuggets

Have a Cigar
I have a new baby! Please meet Nikon D50. We’re calling him “D” for short. Is he not fabulous? You should see his pictures. He’s very talented :-)

From the Mouths of Babes
On Saturday my daughter and I went shopping in stores that don’t have meat departments It was a big day.

• While we were shopping, “You’re so Vain” by Carly Simon was playing (which I LOVE) and she says incredulously “Clowns in her coffee??? Who ever heard of putting clowns in coffee? That’s mean” (If you’re not familiar…the chorus says “I had a dream there were clouds in my coffee)

• Later, we were in Target and I was looking for some jeans for hubz. As we came across a huge wall of Wrangler jeans I said, “Hmmm. I don’t know. I’m pretty sure Daddy won’t wear Wranglers” And she replies “Danglers? Daddy doesn’t like danglers?” lololol No. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t. (Sounds dirty, doesn’t it?)

• The other day she comes up to me and says, “Do I have any clothes from the jamboree?” Can you see the giant question mark floating over my head? “Huh? What jamboree?” And she says, “Courtney wore a dress from the jamboree today.” lol…she meant Gymboree, the kids store. But I thought “jamboree” was way cuter and I made her say it like a hundred times.

General News
• My abs are sore as hell. I very foolishly did some crunches. TWO days ago. The crunches, they are evil.

•Well, Peebs has finally contracted the grossest virus so far; “Hand, foot and mouth disease” (aka Coxsackie virus) This is a very common childhood illness. Chances are your kids will get it, too, if they haven’t already had it. Anyway, he’s more grumpy than ill but he’s got these gnarly, liquid-filled blisters all over him, even on his upper lip. He’s having a tough time nursing and eating. He won’t let me look but I’d bet he has them inside his mouth, too. The poor little guy…

In more pleasant news, Peebs is crawling now which is great for him, as he’s considerably less fussy now that he’s mobile. Bad for me because, well…he’s mobile now. And into everything.

• The househunt is off. We concluded that buying a new house in our price range will involve paying property taxes in the ballpark of $500 per month. We just can’t affford that and furthermore, it’s fucking ridiculous. So now, trees be damned, we’re considering an addition. The upshot is that when they finally finish the friggin’ Wild Oats store they’ve been working on for a year, it will be down the street. Our regular grocery store has been out of organic milk the last 4 times I went shopping, which really, REALLY chafes my ass. I want that damn store open NOW!

Grey’s Anatomy
For the first time, I actually really felt empathetic towards Addison. And she did look unusually pretty last night. I think it was the soft pink lipstick.

Dear God, thank you making them do something about George’s hair. Even like that it’s better than before. Please let him have happy sex with the hot lady doctor. Amen.

Sitemeter Fun…This Just In!

That’s nice. And you’re here because…?

•And finally, a shot of one of the Izzywig Foxy Mama shirts for charity (Depression After Delivery). Thanks to all who are buying Izzywig Gear. It’s for a good cause!

Can you guess who my supermodel is? (it’s not me)
Guess correctly and win Izzywig charity gear!
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The *N* Word (or Why Mommy Still Hasn’t Told You the REAL Name for Your…)

5 yr Old Daughter: This dog has two puppies and two suckees (referring to a toy dog)

Me: Uhh…they’re um actually called “nipples” (cringing inwardly at the use of the actual name for a body part, even for a dog, because I am a dork that cannot use those words with any degree of ease)

5 yr Old Daughter: Nipples? (pausing and looking sufficiently horrified, as one might expect from a child of mine)

5 yr Old Daughter: Well… (thinking for a moment) On this dog, they’re called suckees.

Damn right they are!