Oh, I am many many things, complicated, unusual. Freaky, even. A la leche style nurser in the garb of a hipster? A mom of three with the style and wit of a diva on the social scene?
Who am I kidding? I'm a dime a dozen. Throw a stroller wheel in Brooklyn and you'll hit fifty of me, clutching their shopping bags of Annie's Organic Macaroni and Cheese (all the same ingredients as Kraft, but with less guilt!) and lattes. I don't live in Brooklyn, granted, but if I did, I'd be so bored by meeting myself over and over again that I'd probably have to get saved and vote Republican just to keep from committing serial suicide. It sucks being a cliche, it really does.
But I have one big thing up on those other moms, all my fellow bitching and moaning navel gazing travelers down this particular snot-covered road. They're up to their low riders in doubt and angst. Are they doing it right, this mother thing? Properly raising the child(ren), feeding them, enriching them?
Me, I'm doing it right. Got any doubts about what you're doing? Let's clear them up. Your way: wrong. My way: right. Because your way is wrong--unless, of course, it's my way. Because I'm right.
Which means I get to judge everbody else.
I
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