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I hate Facebook.
I literally feel like the worst mother/wife/person who ever existed when I look at other mothers'/wives'/people's sh*t on Facebook. Because - first of all - I see everyone's fancy houses in the background of their kids' pictures and I want to slit my throat because these 24 year olds have fancier houses than most REAL grown ups I know. Second of all, these women who gave birth circa the same time I did have lost all their pregnancy weight already IF THEY EVEN GAINED ANY WHICH MOST OF THEM DIDN'T THE WHORES. And then there's the statuses...stati?...'Little Johnny Boo Boo is crawling at two months old!! Aren't we blessed??' or like, 'Just made the FANCIEST FOUR COURSE MOST DELICIOUS MEAL for my wonderful husband and LOOK HERE'S A PICTURE'.
And Pinterest? Don't even get me started on that sh*t. I know it gives some people amazing ideas on what they want to do with their house*parties*closets*kids' lunches, but all it does for me is 1. make me wish I had more money to buy all that sh*t, and 2. affirm my suspicion that Lo is going to be the ONE kid in his class whose mother sends in a bunch of Kudos and Gatorade to school with him when it's his birthday. And I don't even know if they still MAKE Kudos but I'll send that sh*t in. Because I'm NOT making sh*tty organic/gluten-free/dairy-free/nut-free/flavor-free cupcakes because it turns out 75% of class is allergic to just normal Betty Crocker cupcakes. And I'm also NOT the mother who fills the kid's room with balloons and sparkles and fairy dust the night before their birthday so they open their eyes to a Birthday Wonderland in the morning. Would I love to be that kind of mom? Meh, sure. But I'm just not.
**Karma's SO going to hit me hard for that last paragraph and make Lo allergic to everything but filtered air.
And it's the little stuff too that gets me. A perfectly innocent picture of someone's kid in their stroller starts me on this rampage of self-judgement. Aww that's a cute picture of Little Suzy Slobber Lips...hmm..look at that stroller. That's a fancy ass stroller. What brand is that? Is that Chicco? Let me look this up really quick. Holy sh*t that stroller cost $800! Mine didn't cost $800. Wait...do I need an $800 stroller? Will my child's growth be stunted by my non-$800 stroller? Is this bad for his cognitive development? Will he have self esteem issues because all the other babies have fancy strollers and he doesn't? WILL MY BABY BE SHAMED BY ALL THE OTHER BABIES IN THE PARK FOR HIS PO' BABY STROLLER??
Stuff like that, por ejemplo.
I'm probably the only person out there who thinks like this because my self-doubt meter consistently runs at about a 9.5, whereas a normal human being's runs at like a 6.3 or below.
The thing is, if I would just stop being a whiny little b*tch inside my head, I'd wake the eff up and realize that I'm like the luckiest person alive and I have no right to be so mean to myself.
And then I hear the priest's **edit: the Friar, not the priest** voice from Romeo & Juliet in my head (Shakespeare nerds and/or die hard Leo DiCaprio fans will get it):
You are alive: there, art thou happy?
You have a family who loves you: there, art thou happy?
You have a job in this terrible economy: there, art thou happy?
You have a sweet hilarious husband who adores you: there, art thou happy?
Your baby is pretty much the cutest, most laid back and easiest baby ever: there, art thou happy?
So why WHY WHY can't all of that be enough to make me just enjoy looking at other people's sh*t on Facebook instead of comparing myself and my life to them?
It's like asking Mr. Owl how many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?