Not long ago, I posted the following statement in another part of the internet:
"You shouldn’t use your baby carriage as a weapon against a pedestrian unless you’re confident that person loves your baby as much as you do."
This was based on a true story. I was standing at a busy intersection, waiting for cars to stop coming so I could safely cross the street, when an impatient mother wielding a $900 stroller decided to ram me in the Achilles’ tendons, to signal that she would like me to get the fuck out of the way so she could push us all into traffic.
Not realizing she was using her offspring to push me, I instinctively responded the way anybody would at the sensation of being pushed in front of a hurtling taxi. I lunged back with great force, and informed her that she was a F’ing A’hole. At which point she looked appalled at me. I can understand why. What I should have called her was a Mother F’ing C-word.
I posted this thing online, and shortly after, received a private message from a total stranger, advising me that I am a child hating D-bag, because ONLY such a person would suggest that a MOTHER could be an ASSHOLE.
I disagree, and here is why. I don’t hate mothers. I just hate assholes. Having children is not a free pass. If you push me into traffic, I’m not going to congratulate you for being more important than everyone else because you’re propelling a child. I’m not going to sacrifice myself so you can get where you’re going .2 seconds faster. I know that once we all get across the street, and you’re at the front of the foot traffic, you’re going to slow back down to a crawl and back everything up. I’ve met you before, a million times. Just relax. We’ll all cross the street when the light changes. Everything in its time.
Being a parent doesn’t automatically MAKE you an asshole. But it doesn’t preclude you from being one, either.
Although I am vocal about my ‘beetus here, I never told my family about it after my diagnosis, six years ago. There was a reason for my secrecy, which seems irresponsible in light of the fact that ‘beetus runs in families.
The reason was, my grandmother was prone to hysterics about my health. Her insane reaction to my Lyme Disease taught me that soothing her nerves took more energy than management of any disease.
'Beetus will probably kill me eventually. When there was nothing she could do about a given situation, the easiest approach was not to tell her. And the easiest way to avoid anyone ELSE telling her, was to keep it a secret.
So, for five years, I kept my mouth shut, shunning desserts at family dinners on the pretense that I was watching my weight. “You’re too skinny,” grandma would howl. “Have a sfogliatelle.”
That wasn’t easy to deal with. I really wanted those sfogliatelles.
I guess she knows, now. If you believe in that kind of thing.
A few months ago, I had a medical situation that brought to mind the Parable of Maybe.
1. “Rev. BIOU, you don’t have cancer.” (Great!)
2. “But you have cells that I’m concerned might BECOME cancerous.” (Fuck!)
3. “But there’s a very quick procedure we can do to fix this.” (Super!)
4. “But you don’t qualify for that procedure.” (Balls!)
5. “Because you are pregnant.” (……)
Sifu and I are happy about this, even though it is fucking terrifying. I figure a lot of assholes way worse than us make happy, productive, interesting people out of their own sticky liquids and if they can do it, so can we. The doctor makes me inject insulin into my buttcheek twice a day, which as you can imagine, is my favorite fucking thing on earth.
Sifu: “What you’re doing right now is sowing the seeds of guilt.”
BIOU: “How do you figure?”
Sifu: “Think of how you can guilt this child when he doesn’t clean up after himself. ‘I got injections every day, THE ONLY THING I FEAR, to bring you into this world, and YOU WON’T EVEN PICK UP YOUR SOCKS.’ If you can muster up some tears you’ll be a master of the art.”
I’m softer though, now, in more ways than one, so I prefer to think of it as a gesture of unspeakable love, for this person I haven’t yet met, that I’m willing to do this thing I hate more than anything else for them, and only them. I wouldn’t take the shots for my own health, if it were only my health at stake, but I’ll do it for Little13. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.
Master of the art.
So that’s about it, what I wanted to talk about today. Have no fear - Simian Idiot is NOT about to become a dreaded Mommy Blog. The creator of the universe forbids that I act that way, but now you know.
Rev. Son of a Bitch 13, coming November 2012.
Earth is doomed. My pants are tight. Let’s do this.
- spidercamp likes this
- valleygirlonceremoved said:Wow, what exciting news! Congrats. We need more non-asshole parents in the world so much respect to you for filling the need. Mommy Back It On Up!
- cheezepoof said:I always looked at it this way: the poor thing(s) don’t know any different… And they’re good for a LOT of wonderful story telling (I’ve got a million of them - each and every one of them completely embarrassing to my progeny).
- cheezepoof likes this
- blessedarethegeek likes this
- blessedarethegeek said:Congratulations on your spawn!
- jailhouserockabettie likes this
- imbjr said:LOL
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