It’s So My Mom.

Image by RichardBronosky via Flickr

My friend Tamre and I arrived at the same panic attack this morning, for the same reason, albeit from different sources: Yuck. One day we’re going to be mom-like. Not “Yuck, we’re going to be mothers,” but mom-like.

We arrived at this conclusion separately. I had been mulling the whole mommyblogger backlash to a Motrin painkiller commercial that depicted some clueless, first-time mom whining about the painful trend of “wearing your baby.” Poorly done? Yeah.

But the hysteric response from some blogger moms was a gross overreaction. And amateurish. Check out this shoddily edited montage from incensed mommyblogger Jessica Gottlieb, who compiled the angry tweets of other moms who reacted as though the maligned babysling were an actual child itself. (That MUSIC. The movies of the ‘80s called. They want their estranged-lovers-on-the-brink-of-reunion soundtrack back.)

Oh God, I could be one of these women in a couple of years. I’m quick to jump to conclusions and causes. Shit.

Tamre’s fear had been wrought from a different starting place. She found out Dooce author Heather Armstrong is with child.

I think our Gmail chat session says it all.

Tamre: dooce is having another baby

me: o rly?
That’ll be good material

Tamre: yeah
is it weird when i read that i kind of blanched a little?

me: no
that’s what i want to write about
did you hear about that motrin moms uproar?
with the babysling deal?
I think women our age are a little apprehensive about becoming a mom, because you inevitably become more, well, momish
no matter how cool you are

Tamre: no..motrin mom uproar? what?

me: hold up

Tamre: k
Sent at 12:07 PM on Wednesday

me: Damn that’s a long link
So Motrin put out some ad targeted at new moms that they found offensive for some reason, and they bitched and moaned till execs pulled it. I’m sure there’s a link to the original in there, and I’m sure you’ll agree, WTF are they bitching about?
I dont want to become like that. Is that the inevitable>
?
Sent at 12:10 PM on Wednesday

Tamre: i really hope not

me: Some mommyblogger made a vid in response with tweening pics of smiling moms wearing babyslings (which the Motrin commercial kinda portrayed as a mere fashion accessory) in front of horrible music
I’m like, this looks so amateurish.

Tamre: i think in 5-10 years we would make awesome moms

me: I hope so

Tamre: i know we’re not there yet

me: Maybe you. I’m gonna be neurotic.

Tamre: and i’m ok with that

me: :)

Tamre: but seriously?
i want the “you should have a baby right now” propaganda to stop
me: oh are you getting that from your friends?

Tamre: eh
just in general
not just friends
but
like…
i liked greys anatomy
i hated addison
because she was consumed with having a baby
how freaking selfish

me: yeah
I agree.
Sent at 12:14 PM on Wednesday

Tamre: blah
Sent at 12:16 PM on Wednesday

me: ha ha
okay lemme ask you this
what is it that makes you cringe about dooce having another kid?
Is it her being a mom again?
or being mom-LIKE
like flying into hysteria over Motrin babysling commercials?

Tamre: more momlike

me: I know!!!
Like, now, this is my life and my child colors the way I see everything and everything I do.
scary
Sent at 12:35 PM on Wednesday

Note: I do know some “cool” moms (whatever that means). I hardly think I’ll be that lucky.

Image by jdlasica via Flickr

If there is anything I do that is so, so, SO not my mom, it’s how I keep my apartment.

My mother was like the Gestapo of cleanliness. I was a straight A student in high school, but I got grounded repeatedly for leaving the toaster out. My room, though spotless, was “never clean.” People could not come over, and if they did, Lord help me if they sat on the bed. Nevermind that all the chairs were for show, too. We sat on the damn floor, where filthy children belong.

So. I don’t know whether I was always messy by nature, or if this conditioning made me go the other way. The fact remains that I have always been messier than your average bear.

Now that I’m shacked up with a boy who believes that the place to put dirty socks is somewhere around the couch on which he’s peeled them off, there is nothing to keep this in check.

My friends all know about this history o’ mine. Before I moved up and in with the boy, my friend Ronnie imaged our place: it would be littered with fast food wrappers, which we’d frolic around, giggling and naked. Turns out I’m usually the only naked one around here, and nakedness likes company, so I’m less naked than usual. But the wrappers and such, oh yes, that has come to fruition.

Take a looksey. I know I shouldn’t be showing this to anyone, but I have a bad case of verbal diahrrea. Also something that’s so not my mom. More on that soon. First, behold, the mess that is our A-P-T. If anyone knows the next time Oprah is doing one of those messy home interventions, let me know.

Image via Wikipedia

Five ways I’m not like my mother:

1. I cook.
2. I have premarital sex.
3. I will ALWAYS work. Somewhat for proving enlightenment and self-reliance, but more for my sanity and the sake of everyone involved.
4. I have new and improved vices, including A. jealousy, B. angry drunkenness, C. the probable inability to age as well (mom didn’t do drinking or secondhand smoke).
5. I actually kind of enjoy my boyfriend’s farts.

Five ways i’ll probably be like my mother in ten years:

1. I’ll probably find God (we’re on a break right now).
2. I probably won’t cook. (That’s a lie. I’ll probably be a better cook.)
3. I’ll probably drive my kids insane … maybe even ground one for leaving out the toaster.
4. I’ll probably be more attractive than most of the soccer moms.
5. I don’t even want to fill this line.