Is getting a divorce a sign of womanhood? It is. I've never felt being a woman more acutely than I do, presently. No, it doesn't make me feel amazing at all -- but I am on my own, which is hard but it is empowering.
I drank while taking care of an infant. I was full of fire, ready to tell my story. The book got published; it became a bestseller; I received lots of praise, but also lots of criticism and even the occasional death threat. One of the most challenging and interesting gigs that Drunk Mom brought on was ghostwriting somebody else's memoir. We recognized each other beyond our differences. We were both addicts.
Last month, an English celebrity, Peaches Geldof, 25, died of a heroin overdose while at home alone with her 11-month-old baby, Phaedra. I understand that kind of dangerous aloneness: a few years ago, I too was alone with my baby boy as I repeatedly got drunk, tried to stay sober and failed every time.
While I was on a date, I noticed that at a table near mine was occupied by a wonderful woman and...Brad Pitt. Or at least it had to be Brad Pitt, otherwise, why would she put up with such a booming voice that wouldn't let her get a word in edgewise? But this is what dating is like nowadays; men getting laid because they're men.
Confession: I was an A-hole kid. I gave into the monkey mentality and harassed another person who everyone decided was a loser -- even our teacher. Consequences were only mentioned in passing after that kid killed himself.
Watch the Karen Huff Klein video with your kids. Show them what bullying looks like. Teach them.
Have you noticed how much kids enjoy the mundane aspects of life that we grownups hate so much? Pushing buttons, inserting coins, handing over tickets? I wish that there was some way I could channel my toddler's obsession with the establishment and make both of us happy.
I'm OK! HAPPY! I'm higher than god. In fact, I am god. A human came out of my body. How would I ever feel bad? The problems began a month or so into being a mom. It wasn't anything specific -- it never is -- but I was starting to get that antsy feeling that I was doing this whole thing badly.
Grown-ups usually have their minds made up about religion one way or another, so either you're (pun intended) preaching to the converted, or talking to an unholy wall. I'm curious as to what will happen when it (religion, god) will be brought up by a child, my child specifically.
You may very well be aware of your postpartum depression and feel guilty about it, but you can't see the way to get out. And the deeper you get into it, the harder it gets to maintain the happy face. And if you're similar to me, you end up doing harmful things to change the way you feel.
There's a video going around of a baby who's using the hand gestures you'd use on an iPad when leafing through a magazine. This video kind of pissed me off. The baby doesn't understand how pages work because her parents have never showed her a book before.
I kind of thought that giving birth would automatically turn me into a bouncing, bib-juggling, broccoli-mushing machine who felt self-fulfilled because of motherhood. But it didn't. Having a baby was equivallent to a mini nuclear bomb going off in my mentality.
I can think of four reality TV shows that have stupid females in common. All four are about females dressing up and and having fights. I can't think of one example in any of these shows where somebody visits a library or a museum or applies to school somewhere.
At the nude beach, I wanted to see wrinkles and sagging bits, hair tangling where you never see it tangling in modern porn. I never stared, but I'd glance discreetly and register. My looking was always connected to the process of affirming that I, too, was human.
My support of the NDP reflects my sentiment for what I grew up with: a pro-democratic movement that began in 1980 and managed to topple communism in 1989. I come from the country that had its own Jack, complete with defiant moustache and charisma.
Mommy has a frilly tank top that shows off her chest, so why shouldn't her daughter have one produced by a company named Jours Après Lunes (or should it be "the morning after"?). The little girl will put on a string bikini not understanding at all what the string is meant to suggest, not understanding that it's a signifier.
I'm not a bad cook or anything, I'm just not a cook. I don't make pies, cupcakes, pickles, jams, banana bread or even cookies from a mix. If you make me a pie, I will not make you one in return and we will never, ever exchange recipes for anything.
The lives of thin women revolve around denial, restrictions, guilt, and depression over failing... I know because I'd been hiding my own fat monster and had to appease it with Prozac and talk therapy. Still, I suppose, I'd rather be sad than fat. And so would Kate Middleton, probably. And so would you.
In my childhood, my mother would barge into my room early in the morning, her shrill voice like a bucket of ice water over my head. Sometimes, when I would complain, my mother would bellow, "Relax!" I used to be upset, but now I know that she was just training me to deal with the world in which she grew up.