Put THAT in your pipe and smoke it, Blossom.

I have stumbled across quite a few birth stories around these parts of late. Not to mention hearing about totally and completely insane things like this:

"There are those among us who believe that if the baby can't survive a home labor, it is OK for it to pass peacefully," she writes. "I do not subscribe to this, but I know that some feel that … if a baby cannot make it through birth, it is not favored evolutionarily."

That quote is from the woman who played Blossom on that sitcom......Blossom. Myiam Blachic. Okay, I'm pretty sure that is not how you say or spell her name, but I already looked up the quote and I'm too lazy to go back and look up her name. You know who I'm talking about - that chick who wore all the hats and had that brother who would randomly appear in scenes to say, "Whoa!"

She fancies herself a 'holistic mom' now. And clearly needs a new group of friends.

Are you shitting me with that quote? Those people shouldn’t be allowed to be parents. Period.

“Hi baby! I’m your mom. Nice to finally meet you. I hope you’re feeling okay, because if it looks like you might need some medical intervention I’m not going to give you any. I’m just going to stand by and watch you die.

Yeah, I know it’s a drag, but my massive inferiority complex has made me wrap my entire identity up in this insane doctrine that states in order to be a real woman I need to have a successful home birth. And unfortunately for you, logic and reason haven’t knocked on my door in an extremely long time.”

I think those people are from the radical fundamentalist sect that sprung from all the moms who gave me those looks of utter contempt when they would see me bottle feeding one of my babies.

But here is the thing. I desperately wanted to have a midwife instead of a doctor, but that option wasn’t available to me. I live in a province that only has one option for birthing children, and that’s the hospital and a doctor.

I desperately wanted to breastfeed, but try as I might, no matter how many tips I tried, classes I went to, lactation consultants I hired or herbs I took, I just simply did not produce enough breast milk to feed my babies. Even though I had three healthy pregnancies that produced three healthy children, I felt like a complete failure as a mother because I was physiologically unable to feed them.

My feeling of utter failure was fueled by people who would say ridiculous things to me like, “All women produce enough milk to breastfeed twins or triplets” (read: you are not trying very hard) or “You aren’t eating enough healthy food or drinking enough water and milk” (read: you don’t care about yourself or your baby).

My feeling of utter failure got so bad that each time I had to reach for that bottle I launched into why I am bottle-feeding, including my entire family history (I later discovered that my grandmother couldn’t breastfeed either), all the different diets I have tried, the herbs I’ve taken, the lactation consultants I have hired…..the whole nine yards.

In reality, I was just SO worried about people judging me for not breastfeeding because I didn’t want them to think I was uneducated or unconcerned about the health of my baby.

I have been accused of being….uh…outspoken from time to time, so I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who think I’m a crazy bitch. And mostly, I’m okay with that. In fact, I don’t really mind having a crazy bitch alter ego I can trot out whenever I cross paths with someone who is just begging for a verbal smack-down.

But when a certain tribe of people, the ones who believe in home births, and midwives and breastfeeding and parenting their kids without all the trappings of technology and intervention, look at me with scorn when they see me walking by with that bottle sticking out of my diaper bag, it really hurts my feelings. And it hurts my feelings because in reality, I just wanted to be one of them.

Which brings me back to my original point. Those dipshits who sit back and watch their babies die because they couldn’t bring themselves to cross the imaginary picket line full of women who don’t want to have a doctor intervene when it’s NOT necessary, are really just scared of feeling like they won’t belong to the real-moms club so they refuse their babies medical intervention when it IS necessary.

Which is really just making it harder on the rest of us women. THOSE are the people doctors point to and say,

See? Women can’t possibly be trusted to have their babies without us! They are deluded, irrational creatures that serve no purpose during the birth process other than to shut-up and spread ‘em. WE know better. Not women, and certainly not midwives.

And now we don’t have the best of any world. Women have been told repeatedly that home births are dangerous, midwives are unqualified, and trust me, Dear, you really want a doctor and access to emergency equipment at the hospital. You shouldn't listen to your own insticts. They are wrong.

And as a result many women (including myself) are left with horrific birth stories about doctors jamming unwanted IV’s into our arms, pumping us full of drugs we didn’t ask for, slicing up our lady parts when it’s just taking way too long for the baby to come out, or using machines to pull or suction our babies out of our bodies. And when all that doesn’t work? They slice our abdomens open and drag our babies out while we lay with gapping intestines on an operating table.

But guess what? There is a LOT of room between all that and letting your baby die on your living room floor because you are too proud to go to the hospital. Which, by the way, makes you a total fucking idiot who should be in prison.

The best thing anyone said to me when I was having so much trouble breastfeeding came from Politica, who happens to be a championship level breastfeeder. After talking to her endlessly about all the different ways I’ve tried to get my milk to produce she said, “Huh. Well, I guess it’s just not part of your biology”.

It was the ‘He’s just not that into you’ equivalent revelation to breastfeeding. Freeing, in fact. I wasn’t a total failure as a woman; my body just doesn’t produce breast milk!

So, to all of you expectant mothers….here is my gift to you.

Have your baby in whatever way feels right to you. Use a doctor, use a midwife, go to the hospital, stay at home.
Use drugs, stay unmediated, lie down or squat. Totally your call.

If some fuckhead doctor is doing something you don’t want or like, you are allowed to tell him to FUCK OFF.

If some patchouli smelling hippy chick in desperate need of an eyebrow wax starts giving you shit about giving birth in a hospital or using a doctor, you are allowed to tell her to FUCK OFF.

If you choose to bottlefeed, either by desire or necessity, you feel free to go right ahead and make that choice. It is yours alone to make.

I am officially leading the charge to stop judging one another. It’s not a contest, no one is right or wrong. Each individual woman knows best about what is right for her and her baby. Period.

Other than Blossom’s friends. They are still total fucking retards.

A hundred bucks says he has the nazi symbol tattooed on his forehead. There just can’t be any other explanation for that hair.

Who the fuck is Justin Beiber? Seriously, where did this kid come from? He interrupted my Juno awards last night (Canadian music’s version of the Grammys) with some horrible ‘Baby Baby Baby Baby’ song that included this kid with no forehead leaning over the stage singing to screaming 10 year-old girls while surrounded by huge black dudes trying to rap to this ridiculous song. Why is this kid even performing on the Junos? Shouldn’t he be guest staring on the Hills or dry humping Miley Cyrus or something?

Holy shit, is he….Canadian? No! He can’t be. Surely I would have heard about him before now if he was Canadian. I already feel bad enough about inflicting the world with Celine Dion, I’m not sure I could handle the shame if this twerp was Canadian.

And where is his mother? We ALL know how this will end – good ol’ JB will livin’ la vita-methamphetamine by the time he’s 21 and his ‘fan base’ is old enough to realize he kind of sucks.

I mean, here is the picture that was on MY wall when I was 13 years-old.



That didn’t really end so well.

I just googled him. Yes, Justin Beiber is Canadian. So was Corey Haim, as it turns out.

Attention Canadian mothers of cute, yet somewhat talentless children!!

Don’t whore them out for profit, okay? We get free health care; you don’t need the money that badly. Their mediocre singing and preposterous haircuts will eventually be discovered for what they are – a quick fad to bilk tweens out of their allowance and introduce them to the showerhead nozzle at an early age. Instead of sending your child on a self-destructive path that ends with dating Lindsay Lohan, how about you leave it with Junior taking the lead in the school musical and getting blown by a cheerleader in the backseat of his 1996 Ford Topaz.

Gonorrhea is way easier to treat than a heroin addiction.

You’re welcome.

I hope you have sand in your crack

Hello, ma’am. Yes, that is a lovely bathing suit you have there. The sliver stars really shine against the bright pink background. And don’t worry; you can still totally pull off wearing the same bikini as the 14 year-old girl sitting next to you even though you’re pushing forty. The botox is really helping. That look of utter contempt you just shot my eight year-old son as he mistakenly sprayed a few grains of sand on your beach blanket as he ran excitedly to the lake to get more water for his sandcastle moat was a little uncalled for, however. How nice for you that your very young child sits stone still while gnawing on the same piece of watermelon for two hours, but the rest of us with normal, non-sedated children must learn to tolerate their incessant laughter and silliness while at the BEACH.

You see, most people bring their children to the beach because they have fun there. Since you’re not familiar, fun can best be described as the expenditure of time in a manner designed for pure enjoyment, most often characterized by activities that make the participant of said fun feel joyful. Parents can usually tell their children are having ‘fun’, because they express themselves with laughter, smiles and the occasional excited ‘whoop-whoop’.

If you take your child off the valium and allow him to move about, he may be able to experience fun for himself. I’m sure that piece of watermelon is simply riveting, but so is the GIANT LAKE right in front of him.

Besides, my little bastard is going to get it covered in sand anyway.