EDIT/Update: I’ve secured relevant permissions and have posted the ‘Motherhood is Boring’ article (discussed below) on another page. You can find it HERE.

And! I was on the news! As Her Bad Mother! My secret identity is no longer secret! Does this mean I lose my powers?

I don’t like Mondays (tell me why…)

Because it was a long, challenging weekend with sniffles and teething and husbandly mood-suckage and I really would just like to bitch bitch bitch but that would take more emotional energy than I have and would just exascerbate the mood-suckage of the husband (who I love dearly, but seriously, dude? There’s only room for one beeyatch in this house. Don’t start a turf war.)

Because I have multiple blog posts on edit in my head in addition to the backlog on my to-do list and every single one of them is H-E-A-V-Y and I’m getting a bit tired of doing heavy-lifting blogging. Not to mention that I’m starting to feel like I might be the sort of person that other people find interesting from a distance but wouldn’t want to have over for dinner (yes, she is very thoughtful and obviously *cough* very intelligent. But I think that she might bring the mood down, don’t you?)

Because I cannot get Gitterdun out of my head.

German opera in the style of Wagner? Um, no.

For some reason, the gods have seen fit to torment me by putting this trailer on an endless loop on each of the very few television stations that I watch.

On the flip side, I am the one person in North America that does not have mother-f***ing snakes on a mother-f***ing plane! running through her head. Small mercies.

Because I was outed as a blogger this weekend. Which isn’t such a big deal, really. Except that I had totally forgotten that I had provided quotes to a journalist as Her Bad Mother and was somewhat alarmed to wake up Saturday morning to e-mails from random acquaintances and colleagues and long-forgotten whomevers saying hey I saw your picture in the Globe today and omg you have a blog!

My picture?

For the record, everyone: the peroxide blonde who is morosely clutching her infant child while sitting in an amusement park ride in the picture at right is not me. Yes, the highlighted quote under that picture is from me. But the sad looking woman with dark roots in the picture? NOT ME.

Please.

This is what I look like on amusement park rides.

Note absence of infant child.

Note lovely, if damp, hair.

(Also, note creepy satanic dude eyeballing my husband behind the camera. More reasons to avoid amusement parks.)

(You’re wondering about that article. Summary: the work of motherhood can be boring, some mothers say so, others get mad that any mother would refer to her Great Work as an exercise that would sometimes benefit from the infusion of large quantities of vodka. I can’t be bothered to get all worked up about anyone who would deny the inherent dullness of sterilizing bottles and wiping asses, nor can I be bothered to reflect on tards who dislike their children. So that’s all that I have to say about it. For now.)

(To be clear, in case anyone is getting panties all twisted about Bad Mother proclamations on boredom: the WORK of motherhood can be boring. Diapers are boring. Shit is boring, and gross. My CHILD is not boring. She fascinates me, because she is fascinating, and also, because she would kick my ass if I was not fascinated by her and failed to demonstrate that fascination every waking moment of every freakin’ day…)

Because WonderBaby continues to impose her will in all matters concerning her well-being and upkeep.

Her Bad Mother has learned her lesson and is now keeping camera and camera assistant on hand in dining area. (That diaper helps us maintain our PG rating. It was loudly protested by WonderBaby, Vegan Nudist, who prefers to dine upon her tofu and humous and veggie spinach nuggets au naturel.)

Because I wrote this post this morning and Blogger wouldn’t let me upload the necessary photos and so I have been stuck in blog purgatory all day.

Motherf***ing Blogger is a mother-f***ing pain!

Why do you not like Mondays? (And if you do like Mondays, you’d better have a good reason.)