I was sitting at my computer as usual while Luna wandered around playing with her toys and exploring her world. I had a green blanket draped over my lap, because my husband prefers to keep the house very cold.
Suddenly, Robert and I heard a familiar sound: Luna started wailing. She had tripped over her own two feet and hurt herself. I told her to come to me. I picked up my little girl and hugged her, and then put her under the blanket like a ghostie costume.
I asked Robert, “What do I do with this green ghost?”
And he said, “Tickle it!”
So I did!
Luna came out from under the blanket with her wiggling and giggling, but my hands were wrapped in the blanket so it looked kind of like green puppets. She just kept wiggling and giggling and I kept tickling. It was quite fun.
I told her it was the Tickle Monster.
Do you remember the Tickle Monster?
He shows up without warning, invades the otherwise still hands of someone near you, and suddenly they have the undeniable urge to tickle you until you’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe! It’s not their fault, it’s the Tickle Monster.
She had so much fun from the Tickle Monster that she got all tuckered out; she’s taking a nap now, getting some baby sleep.
It’s the games we play with our children and the quiet times when they’re sleeping and the look in their eyes when they figure something out and their giggles and their smiles and their innocence that make the things we went through to have them in our lives worth it. Every time I hear her say a new word and actually connect it with an object or a concept, it melts my heart. Watching her run around the house, when not so long ago I had to carry her everywhere makes me smile.
I will never understand the people who say they hate kids…no matter though, I love kids, and I love my Luna, and someday Robert and I may have other children who are just as wonderful beautiful intelligent and giggly as Luna is.
I love my family and I love my life, and I wouldn’t trade them in for “freedom” because I think I am more free as Luna’s mother than I would be as a “celebrity.” And on that note I think I’ll leave you imaginary invisible no-comment-leaving peoples be.
Feminism And MY Right To Choose
Finances, a secret desire to be June Cleaver, having a job that was more expendable than that of my husband?
I left work for all of the above…
I wanted to be a mommy and a homemaker, but it also made more economical sense, and yes he was making more than I, but I’m going to assume that was because of work experience and not gender…
I don’t doubt that some companies go by gender when setting wages even though they shouldn’t, but I think Wal-Mart actually goes by job experience, although they are reluctant to place women in the top positions of their company.
That aside, what IS the difference between a stay at home mom and a working mother?
Both present their sets of challenges.
Mothers who work outside of the home must deal with the added economical strain, and the worry that they aren’t spending enough time with their children.
Mother’s who stay at home have different economical strains and different worries, such as that we have no social outlet.
Being on CafeMom I see the “mommy wars.” It’s about a lot of things, the choice to stay at home, work at home, or work outside of the home; the choice to hire sitters, family members, or daycares; the choice of homeschooling versus public schooling; the choice of spanking versus timeouts; the choice of organic versus processed foods; the choice of breastfeeding versus bottle feeding…it goes worse and worse.
Does it really matter? As long as a kid is not bruised, bloodied, starving or dead, and as long as they are not psychologically messed up through fault of one or both of their parents, what do I care what they do with their kids? And what do I care if they’re married or single? What do I care if a woman has no kids at all?
Why do we as humans get so mean to each other? Why do we persecute one another for our feelings and our choices? I don’t care if you’re gay, straight, bi, or asexual. I don’t care if you’re married, single, or you have fifteen spouses. I don’t care if you have a natural home birth without pain meds or you have the doctor cut the baby out of you while you’re unconscious or you adopt a Nicaraguan baby.
I hear the work at homes say that the stay at homes are holding back feminism. I’ve read where a woman said that all women should work and all men should stay home. That bothers me too…it’s our choice!
It shouldn’t be newsworthy and it shouldn’t be the topic for national debate. Next we’re gonna be holding debates about how an “alarming” number of women actually like to give head or something equally as trivial and personal.
Hey, I’m all for the feminist movement; burn that bra baby!
But guess what, the point was to give all women the right to MAKE choices.
I have a right to choose NOT to get an abortion. I have a right to choose NOT to enter the “workforce.” I have a right to choose NOT to protest and fight and wave my fists in the air. And why, you ask, would I choose NOT to fight the good fight?
Because we have arrived ladies. We have rights in this country; we can vote and we can own property and we can have careers and we can think and act and speak for ourselves. We have all of those rights.
Me? I choose to exercise my right to BE a mommy. I choose to exercise my right to BE a wife. I choose exercise my right to be a homemaker. My husband doesn’t control me but I don’t want to control him either. We are an equal partnership.
If I wanted to be out there in the workforce while he wanted to stay home with our childe, we would do that. If we both wanted to be working outside of the home while Luna was in a daycare we’d do that.
But frankly, and I know this is overprotective and paranoid on my part, I am scared of daycares and babysitters and the potential dangers they pose to my little girl. But that is my choice. You may choose something else. That is the beauty of our freedom of choice.
So stop telling me I’m holding back the “cause” by doing what I do. I am not campaigning to get all women to give up their jobs and submit to their husband’s will, I’m just doing what I can, what I choose. And you’re doing what you can, what you choose.
There is no “us” and there is no “them;” we are all women, and some of us are mommies, and some of us are wives, and we all make choices. Enjoy your freedoms, ladies. Enjoy your right to decide what is best for your childe, and if you don’t agree with what I do with my childe, then don’t do that with your childe, and when our kids have lived their lives, they can sit down in their old age and argue about who had the worst childhood, because let’s face it, ladies, no matter what we do, our kids are going to say we did something wrong.
That is one of the joys and sorrows of being a parent. I love my mother dearly, and I know that she worked her ass off to keep me fed and clothed and alive, but I still find myself ranting to my friends about how I was brought up. No parent is going to do everything right, so lets stop bashing each other for our choices and start embracing each other for our mutual struggles.
There are so many dangers in this world that are beyond our control. As mommies, or as wives, or as women in general, we need to be there for one another to laugh, to cry, to scream, to vent, and to have girlfriends who drink appletinis and gossip about our lives. We all need friends, we all need sisters, and we all need to quit with the bashing! Enough said!
My Life In Twelve Stanzas
(as published in the 2008 edition of UAFS’s Applause Magazine)
I learned about sex at the age of three
And just how bad a father’s love can be.
More of the same from five to twelve
But my brother’s not a subject
Into which I should delve.
I taught myself how to read and write
And how to bow out of every fight.
In kindergarten I slapped my teacher—
I’m the black-sheep granddaughter
To a Christian preacher.
I never suffered pimples in puberty
And my curves brought bimbos to jealousy.
I searched for love down many long roads
But every prince I kissed
Turned into a toad.
Lovers ranged in age, gender and ethnicity
And most found it troubling getting over me.
I was fortunate enough not to catch anything
Thought it’s a shame so many people
And not one ring.
My womb has thrice held life inside
But the third one lived and the first two died.
I’ve sang and danced and written to my heart’s content
And sought out violent video games
With which to vent.
From the bearers of many a backstabbing knife
And the plot twists and turns in my life
And the nomadic nature to which it lends
I’ve gained and lost the faces
Of a thousand friends.
Inspiration songs while writing this post:
Martina McBride–In my daughter’s eyes I am a hero. I am strong and wise, and I know no fear, but the truth is plain to see. She was sent to rescue me. I see who I wanna be in my daughter’s eyes.
Reba McEntire–I remember how we’d fight. We made up and laughed all night. Wish we were kids again, my sister, my friend.