You know what drives me crazy? MOMMY BLOGS! They figuratively make me throw up a little in my mouth. I seriously mean no disrespect to the moms who pour their heart out about Hunter’s first tooth, or who go into great pictorial and verbal detail about how they made whole grain, organic, sugar free, Omega 3 brain enhancing brownies with Chancellor and Summerly, BUT I have a hard time believing that life for every mommy blogger is so perfect. Their blogs always have kitschy titles lie “Our Crazy Life” or “Living on the Edge with the O’Brian’s,” yet their pictures and words show and tell of trips to Disney Land; “girl time” with mommy, grandma, and aunt Jennifer; or their ski trip to Utah that must have cost more than my car. Oh, to have a life so crazy and edgy! When my kids were little, if I could have afforded a computer and digital camera, my mommy blog would have probably featured pictures of me pawning jewelry to pay for my daughter’s violin lessons; the kids plugged in to Barney videos so I could make dinner; or of me chatting to strange men on the computer at 2 am because that’s the only hour I could pencil in a little bit of “me time.”
I like honesty. I value it, and respect people who are authentic. Most mommy blogs will never feature a picture of a kid sitting in a super messy room, in his urine-soaked saggy diaper, with the frustrated post, “I’m so frigging tired; why I did I have this kid?” Yet the same woman who has taken a prize-worthy photo of little Conner frolicking in her perfectly landscaped tulip bed has had that exact same thought, at least once, if only for a split second, in the middle of a sleepless night.
Perfect mommy blogs make me suspicious. They scream to me that you must have a drunken uncle, that touches little boys, somewhere in the hidden depths of your perfect family, or that beyond the perfect pictures that you post there has to be a room in your house that looks exactly like an episode of Hoarders. Probably the biggest message that a mommy blog screams is “I’m perfect and you’re not!” My house is bigger. My life is fuller, and my kid will grow up to be better than your kid will, simply because I’m so freaking perfect. I feel like these are the same women who judged me because I was a working mom, or who wouldn’t let their kid play with mine because we lived in an apartment.
Some people LOVE mommy blogs. The chortle and coo over the cute photos and clever lines. I’m glad for them, but what if I think real is more interesting? Reading that” Cameron and Waverly went to the waterpark today with grandma and grandpa, so mommy and daddy could have a little face time” is totally dull compared to “ We shipped Cameron and Waverly off to the grandparents because their dad and I need to spend more time together. He says I’m obsessed with the kids and I’m afraid he may cheat due to the fact that I can’t remember the last time we fucked.” I can respect that.
Perhaps I’m jealous. Perhaps I wish my life could be summed up neatly in 8 little squares like in the opening credits of the Brady Bunch. Perhaps I wish that Photoshop, a little more money and free time could have made my kid’s childhood more magical. Or perhaps I find perfection less interesting than the dirty gritty realities of authentic life. The truth is that no one’s life is perfect, not even in Mommybloggerland. Perhaps I need to cool my jets and remember that editing is the magic of the blogosphere. I must remind myself that just beyond toothy smiles of a matching-shirt-family, perfectly positioned in front of Mount Rushmore, is a father who potentially looks at his secretary’s ass a little too longingly, a mother who might down a one too many glasses of white wine before the kids get off the bus, and a 14 year old girl who could possibly try pot for the first time at a sleepover next weekend. Which would you rather read about, perfection or real life?