Saturday, February 24, 2007
Poor Britney
Lately, I've been finding myself thinking about Britney Spears a lot. Poor Britney Spears. I feel so awful for her. I mean, sure, she's done some dumb things, but who hasn't? I keep picturing how insane I'd go myself if - for some reason - the media was just as captivated by what a bad mother I am.
"Kate H. Gives Baby Mae Black Eye - Child Protective Services to Investigate".
That would have been the headline the day the back of my hand slipped off my elastic bra strap when I'd finished nursing Mae and accidentally boinged right into her poor little eye with frightening force. I'll never forget the look she gave me, for one split second, before bursting into frantic tears. It was like, "You've GOT to be kidding me. You just HIT me?" I cried more than she did, and that was with nobody but myself trying to make me feel bad about it. I can just imagine what Britney must have gone through when her son fell out of his highchair and everyone on earth wanted to rag on her for it.
Or then there was the time when I pulled another "Britney" by strapping Mae into her carseat, but forgetting to strap the carseat itself into the car. So we drove for blocks with it just sitting on the seat unbuckled. Shudder.
"Carseat Catastrophe: Kate H. Wrecklessly Endangers Baby Mae's Life."
And, oh God, if there were reporters following me around documenting the state of my hair:
"Kate H. Spotted for the Tenth Day in a Row Sporting Messy Ponytail. Has she Lost her Hairbrush AND her Sense of Style??"
If you added to that the stress of a divorce plus the day-to-day pressures of being a pop princess (whatever those might be), honestly, it'd be more than enough to make me shave my head and check in to rehab, too. I kind of want to send her a nice bouquet.
"Kate H. Gives Baby Mae Black Eye - Child Protective Services to Investigate".
That would have been the headline the day the back of my hand slipped off my elastic bra strap when I'd finished nursing Mae and accidentally boinged right into her poor little eye with frightening force. I'll never forget the look she gave me, for one split second, before bursting into frantic tears. It was like, "You've GOT to be kidding me. You just HIT me?" I cried more than she did, and that was with nobody but myself trying to make me feel bad about it. I can just imagine what Britney must have gone through when her son fell out of his highchair and everyone on earth wanted to rag on her for it.
Or then there was the time when I pulled another "Britney" by strapping Mae into her carseat, but forgetting to strap the carseat itself into the car. So we drove for blocks with it just sitting on the seat unbuckled. Shudder.
"Carseat Catastrophe: Kate H. Wrecklessly Endangers Baby Mae's Life."
And, oh God, if there were reporters following me around documenting the state of my hair:
"Kate H. Spotted for the Tenth Day in a Row Sporting Messy Ponytail. Has she Lost her Hairbrush AND her Sense of Style??"
If you added to that the stress of a divorce plus the day-to-day pressures of being a pop princess (whatever those might be), honestly, it'd be more than enough to make me shave my head and check in to rehab, too. I kind of want to send her a nice bouquet.
