Month: January 2017

Today I am Hopeful

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I have high hopes for our next generation of girls and boys. I want the term “ladylike” to go away completely. I want women to curse whenever they feel like it. I’m glad “mansplaining” is a word now. I want women to talk more about being on their periods (because let’s face it, if men had periods there would be some sort of constitutional amendment that they were allowed to sit at home and eat ice cream for a week out of every month, no questions asked and with full pay). I want men to be 100% comfortable with this. I never want another teenage girl to think she has to put on makeup before she leaves the house. In the future, I want my daughter to tell anyone left who catcalls her to “fuck off” with a swagger so confidant that the guy feels stupid and never does it again. I want catcalling to be as outdated as rotary phones. I want the idea that “pink is a girl color” to be as outdated as VHS tapes. I want miscarriages to be normalized in our society. Because they are very, very normal. I want breastfeeding babies in public to be a nonissue. I want breastfeeding toddlers in public to be a nonissue. I want breastfeeding 5 year-olds in public to be a nonissue. I want safe, legal abortion for anyone who needs it to be the biggest nonissue of all. I want everyone to think that worrying about other people’s genitalia is the creepiest thing EVER, and when someone says they’re transgender you accept it as casually as you would if they said their favorite movie is Star Wars. I had to say “Star Wars” because in 100 years when this finally happens, they will still be making new ones. I never want another human being to feel intimidated by someone they’ve never met. But most of all, I want none of us to have a reason to feel this defensive ever again.

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Mom of the Year

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Nothing makes you feel like mom of the year quite like when you’re checking out at the grocery store and misjudge the ratio of bag weight vs. child in the stroller weight, and as you hang the last bag on the handle it tips over backward and suddenly your child is on the floor pleading in a scared voice, “Mommy what happened, mommy my head!” You look down and he’s buried in plastic bags, spilled apples and a can of chicken soup. The cashier looks horrified. Then you laugh and say to her, “Oh he’s fine, that happens all the time!” Not until the walk home does it occur to you, “You know, in retrospect maybe I shouldn’t have said that happens all the time. I mean it DOES happen all the time, but maybe telling a random stranger about it didn’t exactly make me look like I should be in charge of a tiny, helpless human being. Huh.