That Damn Time Magazine Cover

Time Magazine Breastfeeding Cover

So I was told by my favorite, fellow mommy blogger quote “Not to touch this with a ten-foot pole.”

I promise I won’t.

Instead, I’ll snuggle right on up next to it.

It took me a while to figure out what my “angle” was going to be with this one.  As a chronic insomniac, I spent the early morning hours reading hundreds of comments, comments to comments and comments to comments to comments trying to figure what I personally thought about the situation.

And then I came up with the answer around 4:30 in the morning.

Which probably explains my answer.

My answer to the whole “situation” is this . . .

Everybody.  And I mean EVERYBODY needs to just shut the fuck up.

I am furious!

I’m mad at Time Magazine for what is a blatantly obvious and therefore weak attempt to boost sales by fueling the fire of the “Mommy Wars”.

I’m mad that for whatever reason, it’s ok to ask the question “Are You Mom Enough” in an era where a story about a philandering “family man” politician is more the norm than the exception.  How about “Are You Dad Enough?”, well then, keep it in your fucking pants, asshole.

I’m mad at the fact that there is such a thing as the “Mommy Wars”, proof of which is evidenced by the existence of the term “Mommy Wars”.

I’m mad at the headline editor for that patronizing question “ARE YOU MOM ENOUGH?” (And I re-wrote it in equally ridiculous shouty capital letters just to prove my point) the only reason being that the title prays on women’s insecurities and people’s judgmental nature.

I’m mad at that gorgeous cover model mom who just looks so defiant in the way that only Sanctimommies know how to look.

I’m mad at the Sanctimommies who believe/don’t believe you should/shouldn’t breastfeed ever/for that long/for not long enough.  Never?  Six months??  No less than a year??  NO MORE THAN A YEAR?!?!  For God’s sakes.

I’m mad at people who referred to the cover as “inappropriate”, “vulgar” and believed “child protective services should be called”.  Oh yeah??  Get your asses down to an impoverished area of any major city and see real reasons why CPS needs to be summoned.

I’m mad at the people who refer to the cover as “pornographic.”  Seriously??  Chances are, these are the same people who just put down their copy of 50 Shades of Grey to write that comment.

I’m mad because the image of a mother breastfeeding her own child on a magazine cover is somehow more controversial than a reality TV show based solely on the premise of watching a bunch of idiots and what they do when they’ve had too much to drink.  Yep . . . .I’m looking at you Jersey Shore and the Real Housewives of Whatever.

I’m mad at the message this whole “controversy” sends manages to be incomprehensibly both pro-breastfeeding and anti-breastfeeding at the same time

But what I think I’m really most mad at are two things.  One, at what point in time did it become open season on what women do with their bodies??  For some inexplicable reason:  if I take birth control, I’m going to hell; if I don’t take birth control, I’m an idiot; if I have sex, I’m a slut; if I don’t have sex, I’m a prude.  Government should pay for birth control; government should stay out of birth control.  But by God, whatever you do, don’t stop covering Viagra, because somehow, that would just be wrong and really none of your business anyway.

Blah, blah, blah, blah.

Two, why are women our own worst enemies??  We sleep with other people’s husbands, we stab each other in the back, we aren’t supportive of our decisions, work/life balance, choices, and/or motherhood decisions.

Here’s a novel idea:  My body, my boobs and my uterus are none of your goddamn business.

Here’s another novel idea:  Everybody shut the hell up.

Seriously!!  At the end of the day, life is so fucking short.  Do you know what I do when I start to feel like I’m losing some perspective??  I think about all of the babies, infants, toddlers, kids and teenagers who are spending the night at a little place called St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, which is about five miles down the road from me.  I think about how they don’t have a choice whether or not they have to be there.  And then I find that whatever it is that has gotten me so worked up is, at the end of the day, pointless, idiotic, minuscule and ridiculous.

It’s your choice whether or not you are going to be a sanctimonious bitch.  If I learned anything from my ex-husband’s affair and the God-awful period of my life known as the disgustingly innocuous sounding term “the divorce process” it’s that we certainly can’t control anybody else’s actions.  For a while I considered getting the “Serenity Prayer” tattooed on my forehead just as reminder. And if those actions don’t truly impact you in any discernable way, back the hell up.

If you don’t believe in gay marriage, don’t marry somebody who is gay but don’t prevent anybody else from doing it either.

If you don’t believe in abortion, don’t have one but don’t prevent somebody else from making that choice.

If you think birth control is a sin, don’t take it but don’t limit access to people who want and need it.

If you don’t believe in premarital sex, don’t have it and good luck from preventing others from doing it.

If a women choses to breastfeed for however long, OR, choses not to breastfeed at all, why can’t we as a group of: woman, mothers, Americans, sisters, wives, girlfriends, dads, husbands, magazine editors . . . whatever collectively say, “Good for you!  Way to go!”?  Why can’t we, as a group, decide that women who stay at home versus women who work versus women who work from home are doing whatever it is they are doing because it’s in the best interest of THEIR OWN situation?  Not yours.  Why can’t we realize that some mommies will feed their kids kale chips and coconut water and some will feed their kids Goldfish and Teddy Grahams, but (with extreme exceptions), it really is OK either way?

So sit down, shut the fuck up, and get back to reading 50 Shades of Grey, because I know that’s what you were probably doing anyway.  And let’s all make a pact to cut the crap, because life is hard enough without it.

© Two too smart, smartass mommies 2011