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9 Apr

Blogstipation Is A Bitch (And So Am I)

One of the problems with taking a break from blogging is that the stream of stuff that one wants to write/blog about doesn’t stop running. It just keeps coming and coming and that list in your head of things that you really must write about just gets longer and longer and eventually you start to get something like that cramped feeling that you get when your gastro-intestinal system gets all bunged up from too much input and not enough output, except in your head and not in your pipes.
That’s what’s happening to me right now. There are about six gajillion ideas for posts that pressing upon the inside of my skull, but I am exhausted and suffering from health-related anxiety and general malaise and am overwhelmed with work and feeling guilty about not socializing enough in my beloved momosphere and simply can’t push those posts through my system quickly enough.
I am currently aching from the stoppage that is this collection of backed-up posts:
1) The now long overdue recap of the intellectual and social excitement that was my sojourn with my much loved BlogRhet pals in Kentucky. Adventure, excitement, and hordes of Mary Kay ladies crossing paths with clutches of competitive bow-archers. Pink feather boas get tangled up in crossbows; hilarity ensues. Why have I not written about this yet?

When transporting arrows in one’s stroller, one must always be certain to keep sharp steel tips pointed downward, so as not to pierce one’s self while steering or manipulating sippy cup. Also, purple sippy cups and green strollers pair best with red arrowheads (purple or green arrowheads would be too matchy matchy).

2) A serious reflection on some of the ideas that we generated during the intellectual bacchanal that was that sojourn in Kentucky, not least a consideration of what counts as authenticity in the momosphere, and whether and to what extent authenticity matters. How is it that such intimacies are forged in the virtual spaces of our storytelling, of our performances as writers/mothers, when such spaces seem to preclude ‘real’ authenticity? And, what is real authenticity, anyway? Who is the real Her Bad Mother, and why do you or should you even care?

Does Her Bad Mother really have a gigantic distorted head? Is Joy really a squat leprechaun? Does Bub really have a forehead that extends to infinity? Can we ever really know what’s real? CAN WE?

3) Why Teletubbies is a work of breathtaking postmodernist genius.

4) Why I don’t want to be a MILF. Or a Yummy Mummy. Or anything that involves me worrying about those last inches of tubbiness around my hips or whether I’ve still ‘got it.’ Because, for the record, I don’t. And I don’t care. And I like that I don’t care. But also I’m worried about not caring. You see where this could get confusing.

5) Why kid-haters should just shut the fack up already and admit that really, deep down, they’re just sad and lonely and terrified of their own mortality. Tentative title: Pedophobes Are The New Racists, So Let’s Shame Them Already.

6) Why all moms will NOT go to heaven. Or, rather, why, if there such a thing as mom-heaven, I don’t want to go there.

This last one is just me being contrary. Apparently, if you write a post about ten reasons why all moms go to heaven, you could win fifty bucks worth of t-shirts and hats and whatnots and there’s a good cause behind this and all, but please. How could this not provoke my pissy inner bizatch? I could give you a list of ten mothers who did NOT go to mom-heaven (Caterina Sforza, to save her own life, handed her kids over to the men who murdered her husband and then flashed them her hoo-hah, hollering that they could just go ahead and kill those kids, ‘cuz she could make MORE. People: this mother did not go to any heaven that I’ve ever heard of), and that would just be from the files of Bad Renaissance Mothers Whose First Names Start With C.

Then, too, there’re the Ten Reasons Why It Is Theologically Unsound To Insist That Everyone With A Used Uterus Goes To Heaven. And, also, the Ten Reasons Why Claiming An Association Between The Fate Of Human Souls And Reproductive Practices Is Also Probably Philosophically Untenable And Very Possibly Illiberal, Too.

In any case, even if we amended the original statement to read Ten Reasons Why We’d Like To Think That Motherhood Qualifies Us For Entrance Into Heaven NotWithStanding The Teachings Of Most Theistic Religions And Major Philosophical Traditions, I’d still have to demur treatment of that statement, and offer this instead: Ten Reasons Why, If There Is A Special Corner Of Heaven For Mothers, I Do Not Want To Spend Eternity There.

But that’ll have to wait until tomorrow, or the next day. I’m blogstipated, you know.

Edited to add: My buddy Julie of Mothergoosemouse is also not going to heaven, and she’s telling you why. And, all these juicy blog-post ideas and I went and wrote a book review. On a book about sleep. Go figure.