(no subject)
There are a lot of things about being a girl I really dislike. For instance, ovulation can just get right the fuck out. Pregnancy, periods, hormones, all that shit just pisses me off. Admittedly, my husband has been absent a week now and a whole lot of things are pissing me off. As you can tell by the cursing. But wait, there will be more cursing. It's rampant here.
I don't like automatically being the caretaker for the kids. I mean, alright, in our case it made sense for me to stay home; Curtiss makes more than I did. But I hate that it was never even an option, because I was the one who had to be pregnant and nurse. Because you know what that means? It means that even if we're both present, the kids are automatically my responsibility. Then extend that out into the rest of the world. Curtiss is gone until next Saturday, right? I had expected that someone in our family - my mom, my mother-in-law, my sister-in-law, SOMEone would be offering to sit for a few hours, or for Cameron to spend the night or something. Because if Curtiss is ever stuck with the kids while I'm occupied for more than two hours, some savior comes swooping in to save him from the evil responsibility I so heartlessly and irresponsibly hefted upon him to do something like, oh, GO TO WORK. But I'm alone for two weeks, and I apparently don't even merit a fucking phone call. Why? Because I have a vagina, and that apparently means I ought to be able to suck it up and handle it.
My mom-buddies, naturally, are wise to this and have given me a couple of much-needed breaks, and even more-needed ears to rant at. But what I wanted more than anything was an acknowledgment from people that it's as hard for me as it would have been for Curtiss, and I was justified in being exhausted and stressed well beyond my breaking point. What I get is a guilt trip for not handling it better.
So yeah, I hate being female. More work for less pay and absolutely no credit or respect. Which led to poking around on Wikipedia on sociological gender roles and that kind of thing. No, no, I'm not so far off the end of my rope that I want to trade my vagina in for a penis, as tempting as it might be. I mean, for starters, I suspect that would hurt. Also, I like not fearing zippers. And my husband would definitely be less than enthusiastic.
But the question remains in my mind, now that it has surfaced, how much of my chafing at society is because I don't really think of myself as female? I mean, alright, I've birthed two babies and nursed them both, which is about as biologically female as it gets short of uterine cancer. But in mental respects I'm much more male. Or non-female, anyway. About half the times in my dreams I am distinctly not female. I don't like most other women, and I like the idea of not having "girl" be part of the Definition of Me.
It's an interesting path to wander down, and I'm not really sure where it leads. I mean, in imagining myself born male, I can only picture being gay or bisexual. I do love me a hot guy. (Side note: In the car today I passed a totally smokin' dude just in shorts and running shoes jogging down the road, and while my kids screamed I said in my mind, "Thank you good sir I needed that.") But perhaps that's just how it would have to be, since my parents would have named me STERLING, thus guaranteeing that I would have been a tad bit froofy.
But I digress. I want to know more about my own gender identity. Which is a long way to come from "these kids are driving me crazy, and I may as well throw my own pity party since I DO EVERYTHING ELSE MYSELF!" I know. But here we are. Just call me Sterling.
I don't like automatically being the caretaker for the kids. I mean, alright, in our case it made sense for me to stay home; Curtiss makes more than I did. But I hate that it was never even an option, because I was the one who had to be pregnant and nurse. Because you know what that means? It means that even if we're both present, the kids are automatically my responsibility. Then extend that out into the rest of the world. Curtiss is gone until next Saturday, right? I had expected that someone in our family - my mom, my mother-in-law, my sister-in-law, SOMEone would be offering to sit for a few hours, or for Cameron to spend the night or something. Because if Curtiss is ever stuck with the kids while I'm occupied for more than two hours, some savior comes swooping in to save him from the evil responsibility I so heartlessly and irresponsibly hefted upon him to do something like, oh, GO TO WORK. But I'm alone for two weeks, and I apparently don't even merit a fucking phone call. Why? Because I have a vagina, and that apparently means I ought to be able to suck it up and handle it.
My mom-buddies, naturally, are wise to this and have given me a couple of much-needed breaks, and even more-needed ears to rant at. But what I wanted more than anything was an acknowledgment from people that it's as hard for me as it would have been for Curtiss, and I was justified in being exhausted and stressed well beyond my breaking point. What I get is a guilt trip for not handling it better.
So yeah, I hate being female. More work for less pay and absolutely no credit or respect. Which led to poking around on Wikipedia on sociological gender roles and that kind of thing. No, no, I'm not so far off the end of my rope that I want to trade my vagina in for a penis, as tempting as it might be. I mean, for starters, I suspect that would hurt. Also, I like not fearing zippers. And my husband would definitely be less than enthusiastic.
But the question remains in my mind, now that it has surfaced, how much of my chafing at society is because I don't really think of myself as female? I mean, alright, I've birthed two babies and nursed them both, which is about as biologically female as it gets short of uterine cancer. But in mental respects I'm much more male. Or non-female, anyway. About half the times in my dreams I am distinctly not female. I don't like most other women, and I like the idea of not having "girl" be part of the Definition of Me.
It's an interesting path to wander down, and I'm not really sure where it leads. I mean, in imagining myself born male, I can only picture being gay or bisexual. I do love me a hot guy. (Side note: In the car today I passed a totally smokin' dude just in shorts and running shoes jogging down the road, and while my kids screamed I said in my mind, "Thank you good sir I needed that.") But perhaps that's just how it would have to be, since my parents would have named me STERLING, thus guaranteeing that I would have been a tad bit froofy.
But I digress. I want to know more about my own gender identity. Which is a long way to come from "these kids are driving me crazy, and I may as well throw my own pity party since I DO EVERYTHING ELSE MYSELF!" I know. But here we are. Just call me Sterling.