Motherhood – A work of Fiction


I’ve discovered that the most popular blogs are Mommy Blogs. I guess new mothers have plenty of time on their hands. So, I thought I’d try my hand at a mom story. Only problem, I have no kids so I had to use my imagination a bit. (let me know if you can think of any parenting publication that might be interested)



When I woke up post-delivery in the maternity ward, and a nurse came in to present me with my baby, my first thought was, “Really? Is that it? All of that for this?” I asked the nurse if she was sure it was the right baby. She laughed a little – nervously, then assured me that this was, in fact, my baby and left me alone, a somewhat concerned look on her face.

I held the baby and stared at it for a few minutes. Nothing. No love. No maternal feelings.  Just indifference. I wanted it out of my way so that I could order lunch. Finally I put the baby down, got out of bed and snuck out of my room. I turned at the door for one last look.” This can’t be mine,” I thought. I crept down the hall to that baby viewing room to see what else was on offer.

I figured that upon seeing my real baby, all of the hormonal juices would start flowing and I’d know right away there had been some horrible mistake. Didn’t happen. There were five or six babies lying in bassinets. Some looked a little better than mine. Some worse. But none evoked any kind of response. I scurried back to my room before anyone could tell that I’d left my baby all alone. They tend to frown upon that sort of thing – leaving babies unattended – as I would eventually learn.

The baby was right where I left it. Just making some little noises which I did not find adorable. “Well,”  I thought. “I’m stuck with it.” The nurse came back in shortly to ask if I was planning on breast feeding. I shot her a dirty look like she’d just asked me if I’d like another epidural. “Why don’t I take the baby so you can get some rest?” she suggested. I couldn’t hand it over fast enough.

Maybe it’s just a matter of time, I thought.

However, days went by with no change in my attitude. No emotions – besides feeling more than a little let down. This was so anti-climactic. All that build up for what? Talk about overrated.

I shared some of my thoughts with a few choice friends. I approached the subject cautiously, not divulging everything. Just expressing it as a sort of mild disillusionment. The response was always the same. “You’re just suffering from post-postpartum depression. It will pass.” The problem was, I didn’t feel depressed. Just annoyed. And it didn’t pass.

It didn’t help that my husband J.J. showed no more enthusiasm than I did. He basically just ignored the baby. Sometimes he would grudgingly hold it for a minute while I was trying to do something, but generally his attitude was like that of a parent who has given their child a pet for Christmas. “You wanted it. Now you take care of it.” I don’t remember either J.J. or I wanting a child. But we must have. Right?

Sometimes I could talk J.J. into watching the kid so I could run out to the store without having some sort of awkward encumbrance strapped to my body in some very unflattering manner. Inevitably I’d leave the store having remembered everything except baby food or diapers or any of the other baby necessities on my list. I’d get half way home, then turn around and go back and, more times than not, I’d get distracted by something like the surprisingly large selection of gum and I’d forget one of the items again. Possibly it was intentional. Staring at rows of chewing gum was more enjoyable than dealing with a helpless, mute human – 24/7.

It was worse when I took the baby with me somewhere in the car. You would think that after all the strapping in and fussing over belts, buckles, etc., I wouldn’t forget the baby was there. But I can’t tell you how many times I arrived home and absentmindedly left it in the carseat. It usually only took a few minutes before I suddenly realized why I was feeling so relaxed and contented. “Shit,” I left the baby in the car again.” My first impulse was always to leave it there for awhile but I’d mange to resist that thought. Got to be a responsible adult after all.

One time I did leave the baby in the car for almost an hour – by accident of course. A neighbor knocked on the door to let me know that I’d left an infant strapped into the back seat. I tried to look horrified. “Oh, my God!” I screamed as I ran out the door. What I really wanted to say was, “If you’re so fucking concerned, why don’t you take it?”

Maybe someone will take it. What does one have to do to have her child removed by the authorities? I started drinking heavily.

I thought I might like the extra attention. I had sort of enjoyed being the pregnant woman who people indulged and strangers started conversations with. But I eventually got tired of having to stop the stroller while people oohed and aahed and asked the same questions – over and over again. “What’s its name? How old is it?” I always had to stop and think of the answer to that last one. Let’s see how long ago was it that my life came to an abrupt end?

Sometimes I also forgot its name. Occasionally I just made one up on the spot to avoid the embarrassment.

I started buying mother’s magazines to see if I would get inspired. Maybe if I thought of this as a hobby I’d take more of an interest. “It just takes a while to get into the rhythm of it all,” my friend Veronica said to me one day. She’d said the same thing about yoga. I persisted in that case. She was wrong. And I knew better than to believe her this time.

I tried to think of something good that came out of this whole experience. The paid time off from work was nice. Or would have been, if I could have used it to go on a vacation. I thought about asking my mother-in-law to take the baby for the remainder of my maternity leave so that J.J. and I (or better yet – just I) could go to Mexico. Veronica said I absolutely could NOT do that. “The public never forgave Princess Di for leaving her newborn to go skiing. Plus look at what turds her kids turned out to be.”

The latter argument held no sway. I didn’t care if my kid grew up to be a turd. I didn’t care if it grew up to be anything. Truth be told. I didn’t care if it grew up at all.

Oh, well. I’d look terrible in a bathing suit right now anyway. I thought about ordering one of those personalized tee shirts “I went through 9 months of pregnancy and 10 hours of labor and all I got was this flabby body.”

I started hanging out with other mothers. Those are the only friends you can have when you’ve got a newborn baby. These women were SO BORING. All they ever talked about was all of the amazing things their kids were doing. Amazing? I don’t think so. Were they writing piano sonatas? No. Turning over on their sides unassisted, or forcing their cunning little lips into a vague semblance of a smile was more like it. God help me!

These other mothers would say thing like, “I can’t wait until she can walk.” or “Won’t it be fun when he’s talking.”

For myself – I can’t wait until it’s old enough to send off to boarding school.

And – it will be pretty great when it can support me in my old age. Sort of like a very long term IRA. Except there are no guarantees. Better make it a really good boarding school.

Happy Thanksgiving



OK. So this is supposed to be a picture of a snake – post meal – smoking a cigarette. I had drawn it and was planning to scan and post it but couldn’t get my scanner to work. So I drew it with that little pencil that you can find in InDesign,  which is useless as you can see. So, please forgive the execution, and just appreciate the sentiment. Or not. Anyway, I’m  a little late for a Thanksgiving cartoon so just forgive my all around lameness.

Oy Vay!


Don’t get me wrong, I like the guy, but doesn’t Bernie Sanders sound an awful lot like the Anteater from the Pink Panther cartoons?

Angry Anteateranteater

Angry Bernie


KICK ME – Please


I missed my Friday deadline for only the second time but I have a good reason. I took Friday off this week. Took it off from life that is and slept all day. Right now, things are not so good. Rather, my life is total shit. And I have nothing funny or clever to say – maybe I never did. Anyway, I’m welcoming any and all negative comments concerning me, my writing, my personality, my looks, my habits, anything. Really. Pile the abuse on. Please don’t post any praise or positive comments. Not looking for that – seriously. Comments can be funny or serious but MUST BE derogatory – towards me. I’ll start things off. I’m a total, hopeless slob. I would post a picture to prove this but my camera is buried somewhere under a pile of shit. Now, go ahead, bring it on. I can’t possibly getting any lower than I am right now so don’t worry about upsetting me. Now’s your chance.

Also, any suggestions on really depressing books or movies? Please share.

Happy Halloween


You know that question Vanity Fair asks in their back page questionnaire – “How would you like to die?” I’ve always wondered what my response would be, and I finally came up with the ideal death.
I’d be visiting a haunted house attraction on Halloween and have a heart attack and drop dead when no one was around. My corpse would be lying on the floor undisturbed all evening. People would think I was just another prop and would step over me carefully until someone finally realized the truth and I’d scare the shit out of at least one person, ideally a whole bunch of people. Best Halloween prank ever. Did I mention that I love Halloween? Trick or treat!

Healthy is Out: Hypochondria is In


You have a number of rare diseases and difficult to diagnose conditions
You take medication for anxiety, depression, insomnia and panic disorder
You can’t tolerate dairy, meat, gluten, sugar or most nuts
You are allergic to perfume, chemical cleaners and cigarette smoke
You have no tolerance for alcohol, caffeine, ibuprofen, acetaminiphine
Climb back into the womb
The world is toxic
It is trying to kill you

More choice


I’m back on my pro-life vs pro-choice topic. This time with the question, “when does life begin?” – the ultimate determiner of exactly how late into the process of reproduction should a woman have the right to terminate. Some extremists (read Catholics) believe that even before conception, any alteration of the process (ie birth control) is a sin. Others believe that the morning after pill is a form of murder.

I would argue that five or six years of age should be the cut off point. Give a woman some time to figure out what exactly she’s dealing with. It’s pretty obvious by that stage of life whether or not a kid’s going to be a shit bag and I’ve met plenty of children that age who really need to be exterminated.

Let me know if you support my views and would like to join my movement. Therearetoomanypeopleintheworldanywayso/

Pro-life Made Practical


I have some suggestions for right-to-lifers who may be looking to make their stance more palatable to women, especially to unmarried women of procreative age, who can’t stand in a position to judge – and condemn – others without the possibility of being found hypocritical. Here is a four part bill that I suggest should be introduced when and if anti-abortion legislation is enacted.

(Since pro-life is anti choice, we need to remove a few more choices.)

1. Force men to take on some of the burden. When women no longer have a choice about whether or not they want to pursue an unwanted pregnancy to full term, paternity responsibility should extend to cases where the woman chooses to put the child up for adoption.
Require that men financially compensate the women whom they’ve impregnated,
(easy to prove these days) The sperm provider must pay for a) all medical expenses related to the pregnancy and delivery not covered by insurance. This includes treatment for any conditions that may arise after the birth – including post partum depression, etc.
Plus, b) Cover all lost wages. And up to $100,000 for hardships incurred (i.e, loss of a job) or opportunities missed (i.e. a better job or job promotion, pursuing an education, loss of further reproductive ability.)

2. Take Viagra and all other erectile dysfunction medications off the market. It’s clearly a sin to chemically induce sexual desire in men whom God (and nature) no longer intended to be in the procreation pool. Instead, modern chemistry has created an artificial army of ravenous, chemically altered men whose sexual appetites continue long after the human race can support. (By the way, most insurers will pay for Viagra but not birth control. Taking ED meds off the shelves will help even that playing field. Providing birth control free for all women of reproductive age would be even better – not only fair to women but also a protection for men from lawsuits (see #1) A win-win.)

3. Since female contraception, almost without exception, comes with health risks, require that the male partner take on that responsibility. As far as I know there are no risks involved with male contraception. Make it illegal for a man to have heterosexual intercourse without a condom. Unless, his partner agrees and signs a waiver. If the man does not comply, he should be punished by a large fine and – possibly – sterilization. Furthermore, even with the waiver signed, the man must sign a disclosure stating that he does not have any sexually transmittable diseases. Palsying this document will be punishable by an even larger fine (dependent upon the severity of the STD) and mandatory sterilization.

Anyway, we get rid of Viagra, make condoms obligatory and force men to take responsibility for spreading their seed. These are a few effective measures but – by far – the most foolproof method of avoiding unwanted pregnancies, leads to my final suggestion.

4. Make it illegal for any person who is not actively seeking to reproduce at the moment to engage in potentially procreative sex. Now, of course, it’s not reasonable to think that we can prevent people from having sex – unless we neuter everyone and that would be problematic to the continuation of the human race. So, only allow those who are not presently planning a family to engage in same gender sex. Problem solved.

Definitely Not Funny


This week I am using my blog to bitch about something. Sorry, this won’t be funny.
You know those email messages you get – supposedly from friends – but really just links promoting something or spreading viruses.
I got one the other day from my cousin Jennifer who died almost exactly a year ago today. This is the second or third email I’ve gotten since her death from someone who has hacked her account.
This one said, “Finally I found a solution to reduce extra weight!”
She killed herself.
Thanks for the reminder.