I got my first few pieces of hate mail this week. I have arrived.
I've always been restricted to pissing people off in person. Now I have the global reach of the Internet- woohoo! Turns out, technology doesn't suck after all.
Here's my favorite from this week:
You should change the name of this blog to "Uptight Mom" or
"Overreacting about other people's kids Mom" or "I am too opinionated
and overbearing for my friends and family, so I started a blog Mom."
This was in response to one of the first entries I wrote, about not bringing children to bars. Thanks Jesse, for making me realize I need to re post this for my new readers. And since you took time out of your busy day to come visit my blog and comment, I think it's only decent that I take the time to respond.
Sorry Jesse- didn't mean to ruin your night out.
Uptightmom.blogspot would be good- but I think I might go with f-offJesse.blogspot.com, instead. Thanks for reading!
Here is the original, ire provoking post in all of its glory. I initially titled it, I'm Not on Your Side, but I'm changing it to No, Your Baby Cannot Come Into the Bar- Not Now, Not Ever.
NO, Your Baby Cannot Come Into the Bar- Not Now, Not Ever.
I gave birth to the most perfect specimen that ever lived, is living, or will live.
It is hard for me to put into the words the indescribable joy I feel in
the morning, when he wakes up smiling. Or while he is eating when he
uses his perfect little fingers and with surgeon-like precision places
each pea, individually, into his mouth.
I could spend every minute, of every day, just staring at his little perfect face.
Until the moment, when I can't stare at his perfect little face anymore.
He is amazing and beautiful, and all the reasons why the world is
perfect when it manages to be. But I am a human being, still, and I
need some ME time, damn it. And I don't think that makes me a bad Mom.
When I need this me time, sometimes I like to go somewhere where there
is no "Goodnight Moon" to be read, where I won't trip over a Batmobile
replica, where Yo Gabba Gabba isn't playing in the distance. Somewhere
so absolutely adult, that it is unlawful for children to be there. Yes,
I'm talking about a bar.
Remember when bars where child-free zones?
Living in Brooklyn, it is amazing what a stir a bar that won't allow
children causes. Yes, you are hearing me correctly. A Bar. The last
safe haven for adults. May I also add, as someone who has worked in the
bar business for a long time, not the safest place for a toddler.
Look at any Brooklyn blog that touches on parenting, and this issue will
definitely have been raised. One bar in Park Slope, a family friendly
section of Brooklyn, stopped allowing strollers. Man, oh man did that
piss the mommies off. "How will I be able to appropriately handle my
martini if Brynne isn't securely fastened to her seat?" Holy shit. Is
it me- or is this ridiculous?
The really funny thing is, if
these people recognize me from the park and realize I am a fellow
parent, when their child acts up they give me that little knowing eye,
like, Hey you! Hi! You're a parent, too. You know how it is when
you're trying to get your drink on and everyone is looking at you and
your child, all judgey and annoyed? What is up with them? I'm so glad
you're here, fellow breeder, to support me in my plight!
If I need to get away from the sounds of my own child, whom I carried
for nine months and had sliced from my womb, whom I love more than
anything on this planet- do you really think i want to hear yours? The
answer is no. Take your child to the park. Come back later without her
and we can talk about something other than our children for a few
minutes, in this safe haven- this child-free zone.
And until you realize this don't look to me for the understanding eye contact. It ain't happening.