Mama Says Fuck It: Truthtelling in the Digital Age

The prolactin of childbirth, or the effects of a year and a half without sleep (I can’t quite tell) have forced me to embrace a new sense of honesty. I now find myself “sin pelos en la lengua” as the Spanish saying goes. The cat no longer has my tongue: nobody has it, and I’m going to tell it like it is.

Let me drop some truth bombs, just for fun:

1) Childrearing falls almost 100% on women. And it always has.

2) Fascism is coming to America covered in orange spray-paint. And some people are cheering.

3) We have zero structure in place for child safety or well-being: no paid maternity leave, no affordable child care, rising costs of living, rising number of hours spent working, and denser cities.

We have failing schools but most people choose to worry instead about the small things, like…which bathroom a transgender person uses. I hate waiting in line for the women’s room. Ain’t nobody got time for that! But I digress: what we really don’t have time for, as a society, is wondering about the size of the person’shair, shoulders, muscles, browbone, and/or eyelashes in the stall next to you. That is really not the problem here, folks – we have American citizens committing domestic terrorism, declining quality of life and zero political leadership pipeline to end this Machiavellian nightmare. But the BATHROOMS seem to be the problem.

4) Most men still expect women to do their laundry. Even if they’re a nice hipster with cool summer shorts.

5) All people cried as babies. In airplanes, in church, and in the supermarket. That includes “them”.

And that includes you.

And if one more person throws shade on one of my cherubic son’s little whimpers, I will cut them. With a biodegradable, corn-based plastic butter knife. 90-pound hipsters, I would stay away; I don’t play.

6) "It's five o'clock somewhere" doesn't apply to people who go to bed at 9pm. Read = mothers of young children.

7) Nobody knows what you’re capable of but you. And few people will help you get there. But treasure those that do. They’ll mean a lot, especially during the impending cargo-clad zombie apocalypse.


Love,
Emilia