Mothers. They hide in bathroom stalls, fashion elaborate blankie wigwams or take cover behind mall ferns and alley dumpsters to protect us from the horror of the breastfeeding process. And by “us” I mean the few deranged and perverted assholes whose stomachs and backs have turned on a process that is commonly known as fucking biology!
Models. Let’s look at this from both ends and be fair. Models and starlets have it rough, too. Aside from living on a diet of leaves spritzed with lemon and garnished with air, they have to spend countless hours with their slick-back-haired agents debating over the percentage of augPhotoshopmentation for covers and possibly how their outrage-detonating music video or sex tape will be leaked or released on the Internet. Stressful stuff. Most of us repay them with a kind of worship or avid fascination. This may be the same douchey “us” I referenced above.
All sarcasm aside (some of it at least, but probably not), despite the fact that some new moms may in fact be sort of privately pleased by their increased bra size, or just by the simple satifaction of taking care of their baby in one of the most basic ways possible, I’m pretty sure that newly-minted mothers don’t instantly become slutty exhibitionists trying to win the most Mardi Gras beads while feeding their infants. That’s only if I’m judging by every single mother I’ve ever seen, anywhere. In real life or on the Internet. But I’ve only co-run a globally popular parenting website for over two years, so who am I to lob such an uninformed observation onto the Interheap (whoops, more sarcasm).
When I see people ranting or getting weird and offended over breastfeeding, in public or in private, I feel like—and this is an honest moment—I’m seeing the words and reactions of people who would be the absolute first to perish as castaways on a desert island or smack dab in the middle of an end-of-the-world scenario. The depth of this shallow idiocy boggles my mind. If we’re calling teams, they are not on mine. Sorry. Except for that not at all sorry part.
I may have been an actual villain in my house, but my boys were heroes. That’s more important to me. I’m currently growing a mustache so I can twirl it the next time this happens.
You guys may remember the moment I confessed to doing something dastardly to get my boys in line. I expanded on that for my latest piece at Huffington Post.
I used to do a semi-regular series called “Shit They Don’t Tell You About Fatherhood,” which could’ve been called “Shit They Don’t Tell You About Parenthood” because it wasn’t really about just dads. I just (erroneously) assumed most of the people who visited this site were dads.
Anywho, that link above will take you to a collection of those posts.