Short rant. Large topic.
It's ridiculous. It's exhausting. It's everywhere.
We (collective as a society 'we' including me cuz I'm guilty of it, too) can't just let people... people in public.
I have a date today and I'm sitting here stressing over how I'll look, my hair and makeup, what I will wear and all I really wanna wear is something fucking comfortable cuz life is hard, motherhood is hard. Hard.
Yes, it happens to be running shoes.
Yes, it happens to be black running tights.
Yes, a hoodie.
Yes, no makeup.
Yes, my hair is in an emotional bun on top of my head.
Yes, coffee is my friend.
It is a stereotype because it's true. These things in combination are fantastic.
It's a joke because it's funny to those who don't live it... or who's shoes are too tight. Or who's hair didn't do the thing they wanted it to. Or who didn't wear their Big Girl Panties to the life party.
Why do we do that to people? Why do we expect them to be special in public? Well dressed? Fit? Beautified? Why isn't every fucking day of the week Casual Friday? Why can't we be casual? Why can't we shift the focus to all that stupid shit that's so unimportant like well-restedness, happiness, ease of movement, and joy?
I've been ''fortunate'' enough to be able to stay home with my baby since she was born--all ten months.
I use quotey fingers because fortune is one of those concepts that is relative, that's divided, defined by shades of grass, and is certainly fickle.
Lemme spell out this ''fortune'' for you--you few who apparently exist and think it's my white privilege? my spoiled luck? my daddy's retirement? mommy's handout?
I've lived the last ten months on lock down--zero income with minimal output. All money paid in the form of child support has, in fact, gone to child support--clothing, diapers, breastfeeding expenses, formula, shelter, and medical. All whopping $250 of it. I've taken to nannying (taking to school, picking up from school, and babysitting) my nephew a few days a week so I can pay my phone bill and maybe put gas in my car. I've moved back in with my mother who a) has a house that needs constant work b) has rheumatoid arthritis as a result of her breast cancer so she literally needs a hand constantly c) she's my bestie and was on disability for the last year unable to work d) I'm basically a very loving, very grateful indentured servant e) I'm a really great cook and she needs me.
I've had to utterly re-write my existence.
I've gone from pre-baby thriving career in art, self-sustained creator to.... a new mom artist, paving her way as she goes, scraping by and saving pennies. Alone. I've set aside personal coping skills, creative skills, social skills, and physical comforts to be with this baby for the last ten months. I'm a shell of a Mallory, a skeleton of a past self, along with the upgrade of mother.
Take your ''fortunate'' and turn to your partner and thank them for:
Or... take your fortunate and shove it up your snatch.
I would not change one damn thing.
Mallory Kate is a blogger, artist, single mom and funny girl outta Nevada.
What She Said