Moms on Moms. (And not in the porn way).

Happy Monday, Goddesses of Infertility.

Did you miss the secrets?  If so, they're here.  Go check them out.  Don't be such a chicken next time.  My obese cat judges you.

So, I was sitting here sifting through the bajillions of things I want to write about in here, and  I started thinking about stuff I don't want to do once this child out there in the ether (who I am considering naming Pita for Pain In The Ass) decides to grace us with their presence.

You know, stuff I won't do to the baby, to Bubba the Magnificent, to the people of Infertile (my homeland) and to other Moms.

Mom on Mom bitchiness is rampant, my friends.

I  use Fertilebook to occasionally say something ridiculous, make myself jealous of other people's travels,  to make sure the guy I lost my virginity to is still making himself look like an asshole, and to occasionally partake in some emotional-cutting by looking at people's family/pregnancy photos.

Before I discovered the glorious unsubscribe button, I got to silently witness a lot of Mom behaviors as a fairly impartial, childless observer.

And they can be some real assholes.

Everyone is trying to out-Mom the next woman, every question, comment and answer has a hint (or a giant billboard) of competition in it.

Do you breastfeed?  Well how long are you going to breastfeed?  I would never use drugs during birth.  Oh, I didn't have any postpartum depression, I just rid myself of it with exercise. You really don't have to gain more than 10 lbs with a pregnancy, did you know that? 

And does everyone remember this little number when it came out a few months ago?

The people now banished from my newsfeed went apeshit.  "That is disgusting!"  "I will breastfeed my son until he is 50!"  etc. etc. etc. (Honestly, the only way this photo would have made me that hysterical is if they had photoshopped out the chair).

Admittedly, a few years ago I harbored different ideas about birth/breastfeeding than I do now, and G-d only knows what I'll think about it when the time comes.

When I wasn't deep in the trenches of TTC, I watched this movie about birth that Ricky Lake produced called "The Business of Being Born". (I'd prefer watching Ricky Lake in Hairspray any day of the week, but it's a good documentary - go check it out, but warning: lots of stuff coming out of people's vaginas.  And Ricky Lake's nipples).

I watched it and was instantly suspicious of hospital births. I would give birth at home, in a tub, with Enya playing in the background and perhaps a few ethereal braids in my hair.  Ricky Lake had shone a light on my vagina.

Now that a baby is closer to reality (not a whole lot, but closer),  I am over the tub and on dried land.  I'm over the idea of going in determined not to have drugs.  I have a high pain tolerance, but you know what - I've had kidney stones before and in the middle of said kidney stones had they told me that drugs would've resulted in me possibly growing a third arm, I would've taken the drugs.  In the "painful shit my Mom is willing to do for me" department, my kid is already rich. And let's face it, after 9 months in my uterus the kid could probably use a tranquilizer.

In short, as of this moment, my feelings on birth and drugs can best be described by Amy Poehler:

The idea of breastfeeding used to gross me out.  I'm adopted and therefor wasn't breastfed, and I thoroughly enjoy not having to think about my Mom having breastfed me.  And I turned out fine (okay a little weird, but overall, fine. I do enjoy looking at women's boobs, but it's completely unrelated, I swear.)

And now I think I'll do it.  Breast milk apparently has the good shit in there, after all.

But am I going to go shouting at people that choose not to do it?  No.  Am I going to make people who can't do it feel guilty?  No.  Am I going to yank my kid out of algebra class to continue doing it, and perhaps chew up my food & spit it into his mouth A-la-Alicia Silverstone to bring us closer together?  No.  Am I going to judge people who do?  N... Okay well I will at least oggle.

My point is, I reserve the right to change my mind about what I'm going to do or what I won't do at any time, and the whole "I'm a bigger and better Mom than you are" thing is getting.. silly.  It's funny to watch, but it's also sort of.. sad.

If you're on your 1st kid, there's stuff about parenting you don't know.  If you're on your 3rd kid, there's stuff you don't know.  If you're on your 17th, there's shit you don't know (because let's face it, just figuring out how to work a condom was clearly a challenge for you).

If a kid's breastfed, not breastfed, born with a happily sober or slightly stoned Mom, I'm not really worried about them.  I am worried about the kids who have Mom's that think they know everything, are uninterested in learning about or considering any other way, and are taking the time to shout about it on the internet.

Anyhoo.

Anyone watch American Ninja Warrior?

In my defense, I have been a woman desperate to watch anything unrelated to family.  And watching people attempt to run across a crazy-ass obstacle course is about as emotionally vapid as it gets.  PLUS it's hosted by this guy who has exactly one facial expression.  What is the facial expression?  It is "I am the love product of Tom Cruise and a Beaver, I was born with brain damage as a result of this taboo procreation, and yet I'm really quite happy about it".

I'm told he's an olympic skier.  Now, since we know beavers can be quite aquatic, do we think his Mom had a water birth?