I'm on a soapbox

Reader beware: I’m standing on a soapbox and I feel like unloading.

This week, while visiting family, I went to “hip hop practice” to watch my cousin dance.  She is tall, beautiful and talented and I was happy to go watch her do something she loved.  However, it was kind of HORRIBLE.
Have you ever seen dance moms?  It is a show about 5 or so catty, rich, horrible, selfish women who have daughters in a dance company (shamefully located in Pittsburgh, and we are not proud to be known for it).  They sit in a room with a 1 way mirror, watching their daughters get screamed at by the even more horrible dance instructor while she sits in a chair and eats twinkies.  Then they go neck and neck about who’s daughter is the most talented, who’s daughter is the ugliest and whether or not they approve of the color of the uniforms for the competition.  I was in this room.  With dance moms. It is approximately a 20’x40’ room, with a 3’x4’ window that everyone crams in front of to watch their kids dance.  Then they chatter.  It is a bazillion degrees.  Everyone wears perfume, sparkles, purple clothes and is a close talker.  I got stuck between the water fountain, a middle-school-er transitioning into “you need to shower and also wear deodorant EVERY DAY” and an obnoxiously loud, close talking, horrible woman who talked for 45 minutes about her “good-for-nothing” ex-husband and his inability to hold a job or show up when it was his turn to “have custody” of “her children.”  I have never wanted to poke my eyes out with a fork more than I did in that hour of my precious life.

Why didn’t you just leave, you might ask? Because this friggin dance company had a 2 WAY window!  I left for 5 minutes (because I was physically unable to stop myself from reaching towards catty loud mom’s throat) and when I returned Syd gestured to me that she noticed I was gone and to WATCH!

Blarg.

So I watched.  And I posted a stupid comment on facebook about liking boy children and fire shields but not girl children and dance class.  I was venting.  15 or so of my friends got it, “liked” it and fed my ego.  Fewer people gave unsolicited parenting advice and one person ticked me off enough to delete the whole post.

So let me go on the record and clear up a few things.  First, I’m taking a break from facebook.  For many reasons, this one just pushed it over the edge.

Other things:
I carried, grew and eventually pushed out an 8 lb. 9 oz baby without any drugs.  I love him.  I will love him forever. I love him for always.  As long as I’m living my baby he will be.  I will love him if he likes fire shields.  I will love him if he likes cheer leading.  I will love him if he is tall, short, athletic, intelligent, musical, funny, dry, shy, gay or straight.  I will love him if he gets married, if he tries to live in my basement for his entire life, or if he moves to Timbuktu.  I will love him if he decides to be goth or if his favorite color is pink. I will love him if he is my only child or the first of 7.   I will love him, love him, love him, love him.  I will provide for him, teach him, nurture him, hold him, celebrate with him and cry with him.

If he wants to play hockey I will probably try to dissuade him from doing so.  If he wants to be a cheerleader it will be hard for me.  If he wants to forgo college, be a drag queen and audition for Ru Paul's’ Drag Race I will probably take a few months (maybe a year) to get over my pride before I tell my friends.  BUT I WILL LOVE HIM.  I will be a cheer mom or a hockey mom.  If the tide takes us to the front row of Ru Paul’s Drag Race then I’ll be the proudest damn drag mom you ever saw.

In the mean time, I’m allowed to HOPE that my kid is smart, funny and athletic (as I like to think that I myself am).

And I do not need anyone (especially some random person I never talk to that I am vaguely connected to in real live let alone on social media) to remind me to love my children unconditionally.  I do.  I already do.  And I always will.