So one of my favorite daily reads is dooce. This woman is a brilliant writer. To the point that when I read her stuff, I want to pop my eyeballs out with a barbecue fork (you know what I'm talking about, the kind with a long handle that you use to flip over your slab of beef on the grill or whatever) because I've been a professional writer for 18 years and I'm nowhere close. I am overcome with envy/admiration.
She had a column today about Britney Spears that definitely reflected some of the opinions I had on the subject. Go to her website to read hers - or you can hang out here and see what I think (which is why you're here in the first place, right?).
I feel sorry for Britney. It does seem like she's acting out on a grand scale (kind of like Lindsay Lohan) and you can't help but wonder what is up. Is this just another spoiled wealthy star being, well, a spoiled wealthy star? Or is it something more, like possibly post-partum?
I did not suffer from post-partum depression. Still, I have had some awful thoughts about my babies. I have envisioned throwing my daughter, who literally cried for the first 7 months of her life, against a wall, right down to the thud of her body hitting the plaster and then the ensuing, blessed silence.
I have purple-faced screamed at my children. I have lied in bed at night, my stomach knotted as I have promised, promised I'd be more patient, a better mother, the next day.
But I'm not 23 or whatever Britney is. I don't have millions of dollars. I don't have fame. I can't imagine the kind of cocktail Britney might have going on, and I'm not talking about the dozen or so she must've had to think flashing her crotch was a good idea. Maybe it's motherhood, Being Britney, and then, possibly, PPD on a very public scale.
It is impossible for me to watch a mother, any mother, do what she is doing and not feel sad. Because isn't motherhood the common thread that binds Britney and me and every mom out there, regardless of race, religion, social status, fame, money? Don't we think about her children, and wonder what the hell she is doing? Do we dismiss it as an immature girl who doesn't care, or do we pause and wonder, could that have been me?
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