This week has been very “meh.” I can’t find the motivation for much, including blogging because really, why am I so narcissistic to think it matters? That’s when I see through the facade of condescendingly insisting that I blog for me and acknowledge that I like to be read (and when did that become a bad thing?). I know I post something like this every week, but the truth is that I’m in a funk. I’m frustrated because it’s almost halfway through the year, and I haven’t accomplished much in any area. My house is a mess. I’m a mess. And when I think about trying to put words together that could possibly be worth anything, my harsh inner critic (she’s a real bitch) scoffs and brings me back down to earth: what could I possibly say about anything that matters?
I could get all soap-boxy because heaven knows, there is a lot of absurdity out there about which I could rant, but I don’t want to be “Oh there goes KeAnne getting all ranty again.” That’s why I didn’t write anything about the Time breastfeeding/mom enough challenge cover. I subscribe to Time (apparently one of the few since that seems to be the conclusion for why the magazine did the cover). The dastardly issue is sitting in my magazine basket right now, and I’ll finally get to read it on the plane on Sunday.
I think that my lack of reaction to the cover (kudos to Time for having the balls to use such an asinine challenge on its cover) is that my particular route to motherhood already makes me concede that no, I’m not mom enough. I can’t even participate in that conversation when I outsourced the carrying of my child. Or, perhaps, I could conclude that yes, I AM mom enough because I wanted to be a mother so much that I outsourced it when my own equipment didn’t work. But that’s stupid and not worth even asserting.
I think the likely reason I sort of shrugged was because the older I get, the more I feel that I am not <anything> enough. I’m comfortably mediocre. There’s always going to be someone who does more, is better, is smarter, is prettier, is harder working, is funnier, is ballsier, is nicer, is more successful, is a better wife, is a better mother, is a better friend. There can only be one superlative. Everything else is just a fruitless comparison. So I shrug although I do wonder how we let a style of parenting primarily advocated by a man dictate how we mother.
We’ve been dealing with our first daycare virus the last few days, and it is a doozy. I won’t go into the details, but let’s just say that it is explosive…everything. From everywhere. Think HazMat suit or gas mask needed at least. And hours spent stripping beds and washing everything. It’s so much fun, yet I feel like it’s a rite of passage and I now belong; I am officially a daycare parent.
I’m flying to Orlando (again) on Sunday for another conference. I’m getting the shakes just thinking about it after my last trip, so if you could send up a little prayer to the travel deities, I’d appreciate it. I’m excited to present at the conference because I feel like it’s my first real conference. It’s not that the last conference didn’t count, but it was for a particular group. Kind of like if you sell Tupperware and attend a conference thrown by Tupperware. This conference is for a professional society, and I submitted a session idea and was accepted. It will be the first time I present on my Master’s Paper research, so it’s like my first big girl conference (And yes, I acknowledge that I spent the first three paragraphs of this post whining about how I haven’t accomplished anything this year. I own my hypocrisy.). On the other hand, it’s a conference for engineers (blows a kiss at Mannlymama, who received her engineering degrees from my place of employment), so I feel a tad bit nervous about what to expect. I’m also attending with three other coworkers and to be honest, they aren’t my favorites. I’m hoping that I’ll be able to, um, not see them through the throng of attendees.
Lastly I leave you with the below picture taken by coworkers on their way to an event near Burlington. I promise you it is not doctored in any way. Before I offended JJ by insinuating she was old, she corroborated its existence by telling me she saw it many times during her college years. Apparently in NC, we have no problem legislating hate, but we permit obscenity and poor spelling on our signage. Oh well. It gave me a good chuckle when I saw it, and I hope it gives you one too.
I love North Carolina
How has your week been?