Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Letter to My Girls If I Drop Dead

I have had an eye twitch since the day I began this blog. I'm not sure if it's excitement, stress or unrelated. But in case it's a blood clot preparing to burst and render me lifeless, I think I should get a few things in order.

My girls are young, but one day they will be teens and eventually women and even wives and mothers. If I can't be there for them, I hope this letter offers comfort and guidance in my stead.

Open Letter to My Young Daughters who will become Teenagers, Women and maybe Wives and Mothers Someday:

Girls,

You may be young now, but someday you will become teenagers and eventually women who will perhaps want a career, to be a mom or a wife.

As you blossom into teenagers, do so with the dignity and grace I know is within you and not the spasmodic and hygienically challenged behaviors of your childhood. This means not ripping rank farts in public, having a meltdown about decapitated barbie heads or plunking a gigantic deuce on the bedroom floor.

Be kind to your father and do not disgrace him by becoming a teen mom. Unless you find a way to trick Matthew McConaughey into knocking you up and in that case, well done my pets.

Girls can be mean. Don't let the pretty cheerleader push you around. Their boorish attitude usually stems from a miserable home life, most likely due to being raised by a pill-popping lush of a mom-bot who lives vicariously through them. Please know that mean girls often grow up to be bitter, saggy-boobed heifers with beer bellied man pig spouses, stuck at home with five kids and nursing the latest set of twins from the UPS guy while hubby is out smoking cigars and boning strippers.

Work hard at your studies in high school. Stay off of Facebook because no one really cares about TBH or your nail polish color of the moment, nor are they interested in watching videos of you singing Britney Spears' "Oops, I did it again" on YouTube. Unless they are pervy pedophile types who like to beat-off to videos of young girls, which is completely eww. Disgusting, but it happens.

Go to a reputable college and not a party school known for drinking related hazing deaths, but try to get accepted on an academic scholarship. If your grades aren't good enough, fall back on your ethnicity. And if all else fails, sleep with the Dean of Admissions because we don't have a college fund for you. We spent it all on vodka and premium cable. You didn't think all those episodes of Weeds and Dexter you watched were free did you?

If no college will take you, then I might as well let you in on a secret. College is for idiots who have no ambition and didn't learn anything in high school or on the mean streets of suburbia. It is basically an excuse for long haired hippie-poet wannabes to sit around smoking pot or roided out jocks to roofie co-eds. Too bad the roids have shriveled up their man parts making them useless.

Some of the most successful people in history did not finish college, think Steve Jobs and Jenna Jameson. So don't beat yourself up if you don't go...

"You is kind, you is smart, you is important." Do what you love, work hard to be successful at it and don't let anyone tell you can't pull off your dreams or aspirations. Believe in yourself. (What? I'm not a total cynic.)

Please do not be sluts. Everyone makes fun of them. Whores are more highly regarded. There is a difference.

If you choose to marry, do so going into it completely loving whomever you choose, whether it be a man or a woman. Be sure they love you back wholly as well. There is no shame in being gay, but know that lesbians are just as estrogen filled as you are so be prepared for a roller coaster of emotions and the occasional unexpected bitch slap. And if it is a man you choose, make note not to give blowjobs too freely. Husbands will expect them more often than you know and it's absolutely exhausting. Reserve them for anniversaries, birthdays or to secure your girl's getaway trip to Barbados.

If you are lucky enough to become mothers to sweet cherubic babies, I am sorry I'm not here to help you through the tough first weeks. But you should rest assured that many people will offer to help you. They will say things like: "If you need anything, let me know. How can I help you? If you need to get away or have time to yourself for a date night or to take a nap, call me anytime and I will be right there. I mean it, anything you need at all."

They are filthy liars...

People will drop in to see the baby. When you ask if they will hold her so you can take a quick shower because you haven't bathed since giving birth a week ago, they will say "Oh I can't, I really need  to get back to work." Or if you call them while you are being rushed to the hospital for emergency post delivery complications to see if they can lend a hand while your husband waits for you to get out of surgery, they will say "I wish I could, but Timmy has a soccer game, feel better and how about I drop off a bundt cake later?" 

If your mother-in-law offers to come to town for a week to help, it's a trick. She will arrive and tell you the house is a mess, say she can't stay up to help with the baby because she has a hair appointment in the morning and ask what's for dinner all in the same breath. 

Don't let your mother-in-law guilt you into doing everything her way. Or make you feel like a failure as a mother because you can't properly swaddle or choose to co-sleep rather than use the rickety family heirloom bassinette so old that Baby Jesus himself slept in it. If times weren't supposed to change or if we didn't make advances in technology and products, we'd still be squirting out babies in the cotton field with a rag clenched in our teeth and using whiskey as anesthetic. Tell that bitch to suck it. But seriously, a nip of whiskey is good for a teething baby or if you just want to pass out and not hear the crying.

If you choose to breastfeed, fine. It hurts like hell; it's basically tantamount to an atomic titty-twister of sunburned nipples. But it is a good bonding experience and is healthy for the baby as long as you're not on the requisite new mom diet of hydrocodone and chardonnay. If you don't, that's fine too. But if you want to get a table quickly at a busy new trendy restaurant, whip that puppy out at the hostess stand and slap the baby on there and watch them scramble to get you seated at warp speed. People are weirdos. They can watch porn and childbirth videos but one semi-exposed boob in public and they go ape shit.

If you choose to be a working mom, great. If you choose to be a stay at home mom, great. Going to work is awesome because you get to pawn the demon spawn off on someone else to change the shitty diapers while you nap in your cubicle and eat Cheetos. Being a stay at home mom is not all martinis and play dates- think diarrhea slathered pack-n-plays and cartoons that make you want to stab yourself in the eye, like Calliou. (He seriously needs to be punched in the nads.) But at least you get to stay in your pj's all day and pop open a bottle of merlot at noon without being judged by co-workers. Or worse, having to share with them.

Whatever path you choose or wherever life takes you, know that you are loved deeply and I am always proud. Don't worry about me watching and haunting you from beyond the grave. I'm pretty sure I have secured my spot in hell with this letter.

Love always,
Mama-Jama





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