there's pain behind those eyes...

May 13, 2011

Remember when blogger broke for 12 hours and no one could write any posts? Oh yeah, that was today! And if you're looking to use this as an opportunity to tell me why I should switch to typepad or squareface or wordbeaver or whatever it is that you use: don't. Just don't. Technical snafus, while crappy, happen. We will survive. I am not going to uproot my technological life over it. Then again, at least my blog isn't on tumblr. That shit alllllllways be broken.


Moving on.

Rather than waste a traffic BOOMING topic du jour on a Friday afternoon where everyone is busy staring out the window and longing for the infinite release of evening I'm going to tell you something stupid. And possibly irrational. Ok, definitely irrational. I can admit it. I'm feeling gracious like that today.

I hate the word "mommy." I hate it more than I hate bananas. I hate it more than I hate the hipsters my son will someday rule. I hate it more than wearing shoes. And that's a lot, people. A damned lot. Not only do I dislike it when my own child calls me mommy I pretty much hate the word ALL THE TIME. Written. Spoken. Whispered. Tattooed. It's an allergy, really. My face gets all puffy and I can feel my teeth itching. I have no particularly good reason why. WHY. Nope. Nothing. It's just so... infantile. And floppy. And pink. DOODLES. RAINBOWS. SNUGGLEBUNNYFUZZYWUZZYKINS STAB STAB STAB.

There see? This is what happens. This is your mind on drugs. If those drugs are words you irrationally detest.

We all have words that make us cringe {Moist Pink Beef Panties, anyone?} but obviously as a mother... blogger... person this issue haunts me daily. It dogs my steps: MOMMYBLOGGER. Wash your damned mouth out. I may do it (and proudly) but I don't have to like the name for it. Parent blogger? I guess. I don't know that I'm 100% crazy about that either but at least I don't want to throw a cat in front of a car. There are serious issues at stake re: being labeled mommyblogger, but what I'm talking about is just the word itself. The cheese stands alone.

Where this secret admission becomes dually dangerous is that every other goddamned blog out there is Mommy's Confessions and Mommy's Naptime Adventures and SUSAN-LEE LOVES BEING A MOMMY and WHEN MOMMIES ATTACK and PRINCESS MOMMY and every time I keep trying to make up these fake names I am dreading the moment that these people are going to come here and jab their swiffer in my eyehole because these are probably the real names of someone out there's blog.

But you know what I mean, eh? There's a whole lot of "mommy" going on in the momoblogospheriwhatsit. Some would even say an overflow. A glut. A saturated surplus. I can't escape it. Day in, day out, MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY. Every where I look. These blogs I read? They're nearly always made of WORDS. And there's no more natural habitat for "mommy" than in the written words of women. My teeth. Can you hear them? Gritted. Grinding. Scraping.

I am not on a campaign to stop the mommy. If you are a "mommy" preferrer/user (and I know some of you are) I'm not personally attacking you or asking you to change, or even suggesting that you should care at all about my very strange predication towards any particular word. Please consider this my blockade against sandy vaginas: Don't be sandy, vaginas. I still love you when you say mommy. I just scream inside my skull until I black out.

editors note: Since it's repeatedly come up in the comments I don't particularly mind if the Jude calls me mommy. It's not my number one choice but hell, he can call me whatever he wants as long as he calls me. Jamie? Grumbly? Mama? Mommy? Fine. If I had my choice I'm more of a 'mama' lady, as I detailed here.
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