Parental posturing

It was not the easiest thing (or the most attractive) to sit down and admit to the world that for the past few days, I had woken up with my eyes crusted shut because I had been plagued by the disgustingly gross Pink Eye. Which is really more like red-eye.
Not that I’m saying it was brave to admit it- just gross. Really gross. Now people know I’m gross. Pink eye is like the above the waist yeast infection- visible by all- detested the world over!

Any time anyone puts themselves out there to the masses- there always has to be some badassswatchturdwad who comes riding u[ on their big stinky horse and craps on you. I know this from experience. Of COURSE, someone had to reply and tell me to stop being a baby because HE, the epic immortal badass he is (okay, I added that part for flair) went through a whole day of manual labor before going to the ER when he had pink eye. Oohhhhh! Watch out now!

The bitchy part of me (read: the part with the eyeballs that felt like exploding) wanted to tear him to shreds- but when I realized this poor soul was just attempting to compensate for a lack of something else (do I dare say wiener?) I realized it wasn’t worth it. He was posturing. On the internet. Over pink eye. That’s pretty sad. A nice extra asshole tear from me would likely make his poor fake hardened exterior crumble.

I’m really not trying to make this dude feel bad- but I just don’t understand posturing. I’ve never seen the expression of pain as a sign of weakness. On the contrary. I actually PREFER the brutal truth to people glossing over things with some sugary spackle and glitter and saying “Oh, it’s not so bad!”
Walking into a situation blissfully unaware and then getting smacked upside the head by reality is not exactly my idea of a good time. I’d rather think it’s going to be worse than it is and then be pleasantly surprised when it’s not all as bad as I’d psyched myself out to believe. Maybe I’m weird- but it works.

The worst offenders of posturing are parents.

I know we all want to be the best parents on the planet. We want to be awesome and perfect and have children that worship us and other parents look up to us- but I can’t tell you how many things I’ve been told about pregnancy and parenthood, only to experience it for myself and say “Oh what the fuck? This is NOT what I was told!”

I didn’t “glow” during pregnancy, unless you consider all the sweat trapped in the excessive rapid-growing pregnancy body hair reflecting the light of the sun “glowing.”
I’d much rather have known that I was going to spring fountains of cellulite then thinking I was going to light up like a lightning bug.
It wasn’t my nose that widened- it was my entire face. Shit. It was my entire body.
Giving birth is NOT a “breeze,” it DOES hurt- and if it didn’t, well good for fucking you! My vagina is so pleased to hear that you had such an easy-breezy-beautiful-covercrotchblowout
There was no “little pee” after giving birth when I sneezed or just simply needed to go. I full on pissed myself and cried while cleaning up the puddle. Why didn’t anyone mention that? Poise pads got nothin’ on a total bladder release.
“You get used to the whining. It doesn’t even bother me anymore!”– YOU LIE
“The attitude gets better with age”– BAAAHAHAHAHA!

I’m not suggesting that everyone should lie and say that pregnancy and parenthood are peacockawful if you’ve had an ultra-fabulous experience- but there’s no need to puff out your chest, beat on it, and fan your tail like a freakish gorilla peacock hybrid that’s in heat. No one’s threatening your territory- why lift your leg and spray?
I know that some people who just have this easy time with all of these things and are generally happy go lucky are just telling the truth in their experiences- but for those of us who have been kicked around by sharp little baby heels, that can sometimes make us feel like a piece of crap.
Let it be known that honesty and competing in the Babylympics are two very different things. There is a line in the sand, and it’s wise not to cross it.

So be honest. Be BRUTALLY honest. So what if it means you seem “weak” to some judgy turds? So what if it makes you seem a little less than a “perfect” parent- there is no such thing, anyway. So what if it’s gross, or ugly, or disturbing.
If the truth is that someone is going to shit or piss themselves, I’m sure they’d rather have along a change of pants and some Wet Ones instead of doing the waddle of shame to the nearest public restroom. And I’m sure you don’t want to open your mailbox and find stale poopy drawers because you were the one who glossed over the facts with glitter.

Posted on June 25, 2013 by Holdin' Holden 2 Comments
Holdin' Holden

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  • Yes. This is actually the very reason I started my own blog. I was so tired of feeling like I was trapped in the movie “Stepford Wives.” The pretense was literally driving me crazy. Since I’ve let it all go (for God’s sake my last post was about diarrhea), my sanity is vastly improved.

    Thanks for keepin’ it real.


  • Thank you, thank you, thank you! I recently had to hide one of my facebook friends, who talked incessantly about how her 1 year old was the sweetest, smartest, funniest little girl she had ever met. Well, I like my 1 year old too, but let’s face it he can be a turd. Oh she once said she had never been frustrated by her daughter. HA!!! Wait till baby number two darling, that’s all I have to say.