My Relationship with Mommy Blogs: It's Complicated

Last night, my husband and I watched a new movie called The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. As you may recall from high school English class, this was originally a short story by James Thurber, of The New Yorker fame in the early-mid 20th century, about a forgetful and imaginative man who escapes from his nagging wife and boring life into fantastic daydreams. (If you haven't read it, you're missing out. You should also read other James Thurber pieces, such as Nine Needles and The Night the Bed Fell on my Father. They don't write like that anymore). 

The movie took artistic liberties, with beautiful results. Walter still escapes into his head, but he's now running from the new boss at LIFE magazine who is managing the "transition" to an all-online magazine - mostly by being a dick to everyone except his few favorites. The film's Walter, however, is triumphant; for most of the film, you wonder if these fantastic events are really real or just in his head, and you'll be cheering for this mild-mannered, balding "negative assets" man whose job is being phased out. 

In a phone conversation with "Ted" from eHarmony, who becomes his shrink by default, Walter learns that "people who daydream lack contentment." For Walter, these dreams ranged from tiny verbal victories, perfectly timed jokes that socially destroyed his cynical boss but that never actually happened, to a Spiderman-style rescue of a dog in a burning skyscraper. I don't even have to exercise the imagination anymore - just open the laptop and gaze on the (mostly Catholic) mommy blogs, with homemade king cakes and Advent wreaths and lots of children and housework but also - and here's the kicker - the financial stability to stay at home with them. 

Oops, guess I wasn't supposed to say that out loud. It's Not the Done Thing to say that stay-at-home moms require husbands with full-time jobs and sufficiently lucrative paychecks. Politicians learned this to their chagrin, not knowing that of course, these moms can only stay home because they make homemade broth and save pennies on homemade detergent and don't have to pay for professional wardrobes or day-care. "It's not a privilege to stay at home" was preached from the rooftops. Some moms just exercised choice differently. The upper-middle class family life of four-eight kids, home-schooled, perhaps on a few acres of land with gardens and chickens, is attainable by all.

Yes, I know that all stay-at-home moms aren't like that. My own mom hasn't had a full-time job - or even a steady part-time job - since before I was born. Her jobless state was sanctioned and approved by her old-fashioned mother while I was growing up, even though I was an only child who went to school, even though we desperately needed the income from even a regular part-time job. An aunt who once hinted to her that maybe she would be happier with a part-time job was told off in no uncertain terms by my father, who said that if my mother "wanted to stay at home and raise her child, that was her choice." The "child" in question was about 15 and rarely at home, because it wasn't about me at all. It was about my mom's severe depression which made her incapable of managing the most basic household tasks, much less a job on the side. Having a stay-at-home mom was less about homemade baked goods and more about waking her up at 2 p.m. on a Saturday because I worried about her health. 

As a child, I idolized working mothers. They always had clean hair, polished nails - their fingernails fascinated me - makeup, high heels. Their kids went to after-school programs that looked fun to me, more fun than waiting thirty minutes to an hour for my perpetually-late mom to pick me up from school. They had a briskness and efficiency that I admired. 

I grew up in the 90s, before the internet really took off, before Facebook and social networking, before blogs. My mom only had to compare herself with the working moms in suits or scrubs who were up at respectable hours and making money, or with her own idolized mother who raised five children on a large piece of property in the 50s-60s and never succumbed to something so embarrassing as depression. Thank God she didn't have the extra burden of mommy blogs. Even homeschooling wasn't big in our area yet - the Deep South is a little slow on the uptake when it comes to fashion, and people I knew bought chemical-laden shampoos and conventional medicines and cooked with condensed soup.

Well-meaning people always told me that "little girls turn into their mothers and marry their fathers." Do yourself a favor and never say this to anyone, ever. You never know whose mother is clinically depressed or whose father is emotionally abusive, or what other skeletons they hide safely at home. I escaped the second downfall, but now I'm the one sleeping in, staying up until 2 a.m., only working part-time, lacking motivation. Sure, there are differences: I'm on medication, and I see two therapists weekly. I'm not in denial about what's going on, and neither is my husband. Still, there are days when I look in the mirror and imagine a few more wrinkles, thinner hair, glasses. It's getting easier.

Like Walter Mitty, my fantasies increase as my contentment decreases. Unlike the old Walter, the internet is always here, always ready with a new fantastic vision of what another life could be. And how harmful could it be, anyway, as long as it's wholesome. 

**I want to make it clear that I don't mean to disparage all mommy bloggers, or moms who just happen to blog, or stay-at-home moms, or non-working women with disposable income. Some of you I wish I could know in person because you seem like the bees' knees. These are my own personal demons.

Breaking News: Mark Driscoll Resigned!

Note: some of the content below is pretty racy, so if that offends you here is your warning. There's also a great deal of misogyny and homophobia because, well, it's Driscoll.

Yes, I am excited by the news. I've already explained the general principle of why, but I'll go into specific details for my Catholic readers.

Mark Driscoll started a non-denominational church in Seattle in 1996, purposefully creating a church in a place that most deemed "unchurched" and even hostile to Christianity. By using various techniques including casual dress, salty language during sermons, and evangelism to social outcasts and the counter-culture, he built a mega-church with satellites in other states. Eventually this because the Acts 29 Network, which also planted a church in my hometown a few years back. These churches were known for their Calvinism, vital ministries to young families, and quick church plant model. They were part of a "network" but otherwise not part of any denomination, unless it's the denomination of Mark Driscoll.

For awhile, his efforts were lauded everywhere you turned in evangelical circles. Even Donald Miller's spiritual memoir Blue Like Jazz, written in the 90s, had a complimentary account of the "cussing pastor's" ministry to "fruitcakes and artsy people," a place where the religiously-burned Donald felt he could breath again. In keeping with his commitment to contemporary-style ministry, Driscoll had a constant stream of podcasts for anyone with a computer access. He and his wife Grace even authored a book called "Real Marriage" which hit the NY Times bestseller list (through nefarious means, it turns out).

Slowly, we started seeing signs that things were not kosher. There were too many stories of ex-parisioners who felt bullied by leadership, who had been shunned by congregants who got their orders from on high. These stories sounded an awful lot like cults. For awhile though, Driscoll got a pass from conservatives because he was preaching "The Truth" on gender issues, homosexuality and other hot button issues. In the past few years, that reputation crumbled. This year it came out that he plagiarized and essentially bought his way onto the NY Times list. However, the real damage was to his character reputation. After awhile, his comments about "pussified" Christian men and "pansy" pacifists were recognized as what he really thinks, not mere aberration or exaggeration.

Before his leadership at Mars Hill, he posted a series of misogynistic rants on his church website under the pen-name William Wallace. The content of these rants is shocking, even for those of us who had been following developments for awhile.

In response to a woman on the discussion board, he said these gems of wisdom:

I speak harshly because I speak to men. A woman might not understand that. I also do not answer to women. So your questions will be ignored. I would however, recommend to you a few versed to memorize: I Timothy 2:11-15 I Corinthians 14:33-35.To learn them, ask your father or husband. If you have neither, ask your pastor. If she is a female, find another church. If you are the pastor, quit your job and repent.

Perhaps she took umbrage to remarks like these: 

The first thing to know about your penis is, that despite the way it may see, it is not your penis. Ultimately, God created you and it is his penis. You are simply borrowing it for a while. While His penis is on loan you must admit that it is sort of just hanging out there very lonely as if it needed a home, sort of like a man wondering (sic) the streets looking for a house to live in. Knowing that His penis would need a home, God created a woman to be your wife and when you marry her and look down you will notice that your wife is shaped differently than you and makes a very nice home....

Can I be a gay Christian? In the infamous words of the now metaphysically challenged and likely kindling ex-pentecostal pastor Sam Kinison "How can one man look at another man's hairy ass and find love?" What an insane conversation. Every man knows you can't build anything with bolts and bolts. Damn freaks. And the pastel cashmere wearing sensible haircut clean shaven loafer wearing minivan driving suburban sympathizers contend "But they really really love each other." I love dogs, but I don't stick my tongue in their mouth and lobby congress for a tax deductible union. "But we need to be nice." What the hell for?  A man is free to knock boots with any sad hairy lump of clay desperate enough to climb in the sheets and prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that total depravity is an understatement, but what the hell you want from me? Should we form some form of homo Promise Keepers so we can all climb into a stadium and hug each other and cry like damn junior high girls watching Dawson's Creek. I'd tell you to kiss my ass, but I'm afraid you'd take me up on it.

I always wanted to be a penis-home! 

He called this his "prophecy days" and assured folks that he was a kinder, gentler version of that guy. Well, I believe that they're the same person; I just don't see a change. Neither did the 21 pastors who charged Driscoll with abusive conduct. Neither did any women outside of his congregation when we heard sermons like this:

Men, I am glad to report to you that oral sex is biblical. Amen? [Amens and laughter] The wife performing oral sex on the husband is biblical. God’s men said…Amen. Ladies, your husbands appreciate oral sex. They do. So, serve them, love them well. It’s biblical, right here. We have a verse. “The fruit of her husband is sweet to her taste and she delights to be beneath him.” I’ll tell you a story, if you don’t tell anyone else. [Laughter] Of a man who started attending our church because of oral sex. [Laughter] So many of you women come to church, I think in your country [Scotland] it’s 60 or 70%, “My husband won’t come to church he doesn’t have any interest in the things of God and doesn’t’ see why church would apply to him.” We had a woman like that come to our church, she became a Christian, her husband was not a Christian. He hated the church, wanted nothing to do with the church. She kept browbeating him about Jesus. “You need to get saved. You’re gonna burn in hell.” He had no interest in that. So finally I was teaching a class on sex, and she said, “Oh, so oral sex on a husband is what a wife is supposed to do.” I said “Yeah.” She said, “My husband’s always wanted that but I’ve refused him.” I went to 1 Peter 3. I said “The Bible says that if your husband is not a Christian that you are to win him over with deeds of kindness. [Laughter] So go home and tell your husband that you were in a Bible study today and that God has convicted you of sin, and repent [Laughter] and perform oral sex on your husband and tell him that Jesus—Jesus Christ—commands you to do so. The next week, the man showed up at church. [Laughter, clapping] He came up to me, and said, “Uh, you know, this is a really good church.” That handing out tracts on the street thing—there’s a better way to see revival, I assure you.

His sexual obsessions notwithstanding, the scariest things came from those who formed entire support groups to help each other after leaving Mars Hill. They said the church acted like a prototype cult: lure you in when you're new in town and lonely, provide an instant family via small group assignments, fill up your free time with "work for the church," require new members to sign an extensive "covenant," and intrude on all your personal decision making. And if you step out of line, your name might get put on a shunning list on the church website and email list. Perhaps the last straw for many was in 2007 when Driscoll fired the executive board that was meant to be a check on his authority and installed a group of yes men.

I feel sorry for his wife and kids. Hell, I feel bad for him, in that many of his quotes and actions indicate someone in dire need of counseling. But mostly I am overcome with relief that, for now, he is no longer able to bully anyone but his immediate family. 

What Not to Say to a Pastor/ Priest's Wife

"Honey, I don't mean to be forward, but.... are you pregnant?"

Quickly followed by:

"Oh my, I didn't mean to imply that you have a little pooch.... I think it's just the style of dress."

What I wanted to say in response

Catholics, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Fundies

I've noticed an unnerving trend. It seems that many of the cultural and theological positions from fundamentalist and evangelical Protestant cultures are seeping into the more conservative Catholic circles. Many of the "hot topics" on Catholic blogs (such as veiling, skirts vs. pants, homeschooling, wifely submission, purity rings, etc) are just borrowed from fundies. For as long as I can remember, certain Protestant women have been homeschooling their large families while wearing ankle-length denim skirts, never cutting their hair, frequenting health food stores, and having babies at home. (One movie says that "health food stores are where the lives of fundamentalists and liberal hippies intersect.") The extreme end of the spectrum are the folks who do "home church" (because they can't find a church that's pure enough for them) and who keep their daughters at home instead of letting them go to college.

Obviously, Catholics won't be having church at home; there's that pesky Mass obligation, and the entire idea of Catholicism centers around the altar, not the home. And yet, I see more and more Catholic bloggers talking like fundy Protestants. Ironically, the more "traditional" Catholics are more likely to look like Protestants.

I'm honestly baffled by this. For someone who breathes a sigh of relief every morning because I'm not in that subculture anymore, I can't imagine why someone would willingly put themselves there - especially a Catholic. When you've got the intellectual backdrop of Augustine, Aquinas, Francis de Sales, Theresa de Avila, John Henry Newman, et all, why would you need the advice of folks like the Pearls, Voddie Baucham, Eric and Leslie Ludy, and Joshua Harris?

Because let's be clear. That whole "emotional purity," parent-lead courtship, "you are your virginity," cups filled with spit image of sexuality? Not Catholic. Eschewing vaccines? Not Catholic. "Full time head-covering" and measuring one's virtue by the length of one's skirt? Not Catholic. Proudly proclaiming that you've never worked outside the home and wanting the same for your daughters? Not Catholic.

But nothing scares me more than the adoption of "wifely submission." Even the old-time Catholics don't come close to the paralysis that defines fundamentalist womanhood. The conservative Protestant image of a woman is much closer to Victorianism than Christianity, and it leads to toxic places. If you've never seen the video of John Piper's talk on women with abusive husbands, this should be eye-opening. Catholics, this is where "submission" leads: to silent acquiescence of abuse. Men, be on guard: this thought process leads to a weak version of "manhood" that can't tolerate a strong, healthy wife. In Piper's mind, the central issue of domestic violence is the woman's "crisis of submission," not her safety, and she might even need to endure being smacked around for a night as long as it's "not causing her to sin."

(Note: this man is well-regarded in certain circles. Growing up as a Calvinist, he was one of our hallowed authors along with R.C. Sproul, John MacArthur, Elizabeth Elliot, Francis Schaeffer and JI Packer. My respect for him evaporated after watching this video, but sadly he is still highly influential).

Becoming Flesh and Blood

Southern women are expected to fit a certain mold. You wear a skirt or dress with a girdle or control-top panty hose, high heels, plenty of feminine jewelry, perfume, the works. Your hair is "fixed," hardened with hair spray, and your nails are "done." When you walk out the door, you assume the pose: head up, shoulders back, stomach in, fake smile pasted on. Poke out those boobs, ladies. And when you stand for a picture, have one foot slightly in front of the other to distribute your weight. If you have an excess of five pounds or greater, always have someone stand a little in front of you to hide those extra pounds. Never say what you really think or feel, and put on a slightly high-pitched voice when you pick up the phone. You are an image, not a person.

I would apologize for offending anyone by saying this, but fuck that shit. I'm tired of being an image. I'm just me.

I grew up as a "non girly-girl" who was constantly scolding for either not smiling or for smiling too hard. My mom would make me practice in front of the mirror so that my eyes wouldn't squint so much. None of my pictures were good enough with the exception of a few, and their existence was a burden. "Look at this picture - see how pretty you look? If you would just smile, comb your hair out of your face, and stand up straight, you would look that pretty in all your pictures. No, just look at the picture. That's all I want - just do that for all your pictures."

My wedding pictures are gorgeous. I'm not being vain; I'm just being objective and saying that yep, those are some damn good pictures, of both me and my husband. My eyes are full of stars, my smile is genuine, my body is relaxed (not quite poker straight, but the dress was forgiving). Everyone said I was "glowing."

My pictures will probably not look like that ever again. I will be just as happy when my children are born, maybe even happier, but I'll look like shit because I just had a kid. Happiness and joy aren't always clean and pretty. And joy isn't always happy either.

Therein is the trouble. In order to even look at the problem, the issue of becoming human, I am unable to think of myself. First I have to look at pictures and images of myself, and even that is painful.

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In her sort-of-memoir Bossy Pants, Tina Fey explains why the image problem has gotten even worse, no matter how liberal or conservative, secular or religious you are:

"Back in my Wildwood days with Janet, you were either blessed with a beautiful body or you were not. And if you were not, you could just chill out and learn a trade. Now if you're not "hot," you are expected to work on it until you are."

Oh Tina. In New Jersey in the 70s, it may have been that simple, but it has never been that simple for a Southern woman, not unless you were poor and had to work so hard that you just hoped you could keep your teeth. All Southern women are required to be in a constant state of panic where looks are concerned, and if you're not panicking then that means you're "common." No woman of class would feel comfortable enough to walk outside without a full face of makeup. So it is now, so it was in 1940 when my grandmama was in college, and so it was in the days of Scarlet O'Hara. Forever and ever, Amen.

Southern women could never just "chill out and learn a trade," unless they had iron wills that kept out the steady stream of masculine and feminine disapproval. Masculine disapproval? Oh yes honey. Men would never say something to a lady's face, but behind her back they will look archly at a photo and say "If the barn needs painting, paint it." They will, according to a co-worker I had, touch their teenage daughter's legs and say "What is this? Is this stubble? Why is that there?" (The same co-worker proudly noted that he need never say this to her, his wife.) They will tell their younger cousins that leg shaving is an every day chore, no exceptions. They will wonder aloud why someone at church let her varicose veins show. No, not all men, but enough that it matters. And these men don't have to be paragons of fashion either - just ordinary men with "reasonable expectations."

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When Simcha Fisher wrote her brilliant call to arms entitled "Pants!," there was some confusion about why, exactly, men were so concerned about the attire of women who are not their wives. The sentence most vilified, justly, was the writer's "Make it good for us" statement, which managed to be creepy and grammatically nonsensical all at once. Unlike some readers, I was not surprised. This is what happens when all women everywhere are given "reasonable expectations" for everyday use, and it is business as usual in the South. The difference between now and, say, 40 years ago, is that Tina Fey could walk on a New Jersey beach and know that some women are blessed and some are not. Now, we have the Jersey Shore, yo. Different rules than at a PTA meeting in Mississippi (I got a panic attack just typing that). But the principle is the same: women=images.The Southern woman has been exported nationally, with local color added depending on the region. And it makes me madder than hell.

That's right, mad. The angry feminist is raging, ahhhh! Run for your lives! No apologies, folks. There's good reason to be mad, when the poison has seeped into every facet of society. That's why liberals blame conservatives for slut shaming, and conservatives blame liberals for immodest dress, and they're both right. The closer we get to the utopia of Truly Feminine, the less real flesh and blood we have to cope with. If you are expected to be an image, then you will realize that flesh and blood bodies are unimportant - an impediment to be overcome. The logical outcome that no one is really "naked" in this world. All women are thoroughly covered: it's just that different cultural groups embrace different coverings.

During the last decade after 9/11, it was popular to decry the horrors of those who wear hijab. American women with chemically-treated hair, Brazilian-waxed pelvises, bleached teeth, and blue-colored contacts were happy to report that they were "free" enough to show their bodies.

Some days I want to be a conservative Muslim so I can throw on a burqa and say fuck it, I'm not shaving my legs or washing my hair today.

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So here's my "call to arms." Stop blaming magazines. Stop blaming Pinterest. Stop blaming all the usual suspects, depending on "whose side you're on": Hollywood, Muslims, Christians, Protestants, Catholics, capitalists, liberals, conservatives, feminists, homosexuals, transsexuals, fundamentalists, working women, SAHMs, blah blah blah.

Start with your own word for "natural." What does that mean to you? Does it mean that your face is completely clear and "neutral" looking? Does it mean a total lack of wrinkles, freckles, pimples, crows feet, skin tags, hair? If you've got a dark complexion, does it mean you need to be "white"? If you're pale, does it mean you need a tan?

Mothers of little girls, this may be easier for you, because you don't have to use yourself as a reference point. Remember when she was born, all red and covered in goo, screaming her head off, squinty-eyed? Tell me that child was not the most beautiful, the most natural thing you'd ever seen.

When you're daughter comes home with a school picture and her smile is so big that it makes her eyes squint, be proud of that smile. That's a natural, happy smile. If you criticize it now, if you make her "practice smiling" now, don't be surprised when her teenage pictures are gloom and doom. Don't tell her that "you don't need to wear tons of makeup, I'm just asking you to cover up that shine on your nose," and then express shock and awe when she turns up covered in black makeup and goth gear.  You've already implied to your daughter that she is an image, remember? Don't be surprised when she decides that she wants to determine her own image, to rebel against your image of what she needs to be.

In other words, don't be a Gnostic. We women are flesh and blood, just as flesh and blood as men. We were redeemed by a flesh and blood Savior. We were born red and gooey, and we will die grey and decayed, and both states are natural. It's only in-between that we create graven images and hold them in front of our faces.

Seven Quick Takes: Taboo Stuff I Love

1. Snoop Dogg

Let's start this off with a bang shall we? (And oh, by the way, every single one of these takes is offensive in some way/ multiple ways. You have been warned). I always heard that Snoop Dogg was no talent. The naysayers are wrong. Yes, he's offensive in every single way - violence, sex, misogyny, etc. But he has got such a smooth flow, much better than Dr. Dre's. Everyone knows Gin and Juice, but Take it Back to '85 is much more fun: Make sure you're wearing headphones.  His best music was made when still producing music with Warren G (beautiful jazzy voice) and the rest of Death Row records. Yes, rap is music. Deal with it.

2. Eminem

I don't like his raps ironically. No, I sincerely like the early songs like The Real Slim Shady. Ask anybody in their mid-late twenties, and unless they're lying, they like it too. They'll bluff and beat around the bush and try to be all ironic, but don't be fooled. If it were to come on the radio and they were alone in the car, they'd start rapping it too, badly, with hand motions. Here are the lyrics, and they're clever.

3. Albert "Bert" "The Machine" Kreischer

My husband and I are big fans of stand up, and Albert Kreischer is possibly our favorite for live shows. He has a great stage presence and is able to improv like a pro - the sign of real stand up. While we were at a show in Baltimore in the summer, a group of rather trashy ladies were heckling, whooping, just being plain obnoxious, but he dealt with it with pizazz without becoming too crazy or having to throw them out. He started the show by throwing off his shirt and pouring whiskey all over himself; it was fantastic. What can I say, I like low-brow entertainment. (My moonshine making ancestors would be so proud.) His most famous sketch (which is actually fairly clean) concerns his escapades as a college study abroad student in 1990s Russia, and how he got mixed up with the Russian mafia. NOTE: I just listened to it again, and no, it is not clean. Not even a little bit.

4. Dave Chappelle 

Some people think he's racist. They are patently wrong. He is clever, and he is signifyin'.  I really wish I'd been here to see his show in D.C., his hometown. There are so many good clips of his that it was really hard to pick, but here are some of my favorites.

5. The Rocky Horror Picture Show

And with that, I just lost whatever audience I once had. Full speed ahead! If you don't know what I'm talking about, you really should be familiar with the pop culture reference Time Warp. "It's just a turn to the left...." Actually, I have no right to list this at all, since I've never been to a live showing and am therefore still a virgin. But I have such good memories of watching this on a tiny TV with my college friends and dancing the time warp. This is seriously the most offensive thing on this list though: it has the song "Sweet Transvestite" and ends in an orgy. It's also very clever though - a great riff on the 1950s drive in sci-fi movies.

6. Eddy Izzard

Speaking of transvestites (I don't get to use that phrase much...). Eddy Izzard is a cross-dressing British stand-up comedian with a great delivery and hilarious jokes. This is my favorite version of the American vs. British culture pieces.

7. South Park 

This show is popular for a reason: it's the best satire on the market. And what's even better is that it bucks the trend of riffing only on conservatives: primarily it destroys liberal sacred cows. In that attribute, it's virtually alone amongst TV shows. This was the only show with the nerve to say that Americans love Walmart because of greed, not that Walmart was some monster by virtue of existence. They even had the audacity to attack the hypocrisy of obese anti-smoking advocates, which is unthinkable today. They can show subtle balance though too: the brilliant post 2008-election episode called "About Last Night" (which was in fact produced that night) hit the nail on the head regarding fans of both parties. As for the actual candidates, well, I won't give it away.

Y'all, they even mocked Muhammad in the brilliant two-part saga Cartoon Wars (which the creators discuss here). It's like they have a death wish or something. Comedy Central refused to allow them to include an image of Muhammad just standing there, and the episode ends with a supposed creation of terrorists mocking America, Jesus, and the flag with feces.  The irony is golden: look what we're allowed to put about America and Christianity. Seriously, nobody talks this way; how do they get away with it?

Authenticity?

If you're like me (God help you), you freak out constantly, wondering what people are thinking.

Here's the secret: no one gives a shit. The coffee stain on your shirt? No one will notice because they're all too busy hiding that mustard stain on their pants. I mean, unless you just poured it all over yourself, and then we'll have a good laugh at your expense.

The person with an earpiece saying hello on the bus? Not talking to you. The surly barista at Starbucks? Not mad at you, just having a bad day.

So don't do anything outrageously stupid like posting naked pictures on the internet, and get over yourself. It's not about me, and it's not about you.

I got so into reading Catholic blogs that I decided that my life was meaningless because I'm not popping out babies right now. I work at an office, and my husband is a student. And that's OK - we're not all alike, and sometimes I'm going to cuss (OK, I cuss a lot). No need to fret.