Dealbreakers: how someone goes from a possible friend to being labeled a motherbitch in my book.
In case you missed the definition of my word:
I thought we could be friends, but then you…were not tolerant of any beliefs different than your own. Whether it’s religion, breast v. bottle, political party, WHATEVER it is. Even if I happen to agree with you on your issue- I see the other side and have no problem with people who believe differently than I do. If you automatically write someone off for believing differently than you, well, I write you off for your narrowmindedness. Straight to the motherbitch category you go.
I thought we could be friends, but then you…acted like a child expert. It’s okay to share what worked or didn’t work for your child, but it is NOT okay to tell everyone that your way is the only way and that all children will take to your advice the same way your child did. I have news for you: my OWN three kids are so different that I have to use different strategies with each of them, so do not tell me that your way is the only right way to parent. You’ve now become another motherbitch post for my readers to laugh at.
I thought we could be friends, but then you…badmouthed someone else’s child. Whether it was mine or some other child on the playground: who are you to judge someone’s child based on what you happened to see for 30 seconds on the jungle gym? Do you know anything else about that child? Is your own child perfect? Add another 50 motherbitch points if you do actually think your own child is perfect. They are just kids; don’t judge. However, we can now all judge you here.
I thought we could be friends, but then you…visibly shuddered when I told you I have 3 boys. Boys can be rowdy and difficult and certainly dirty. And no, I’m never going to get to have all the pink cutesy tutu stuff. But, they’re mine and I love them. I’m the one who is taking them home with me, so you can save your shuddering for after I leave, please, motherbitch.
I thought we could be friends, but then you…were back in your size 0 jeans a week after delivering your third baby. Because I hate you for that.
Okay, okay, that last one is a total lie. I won’t boot you to the motherbitch category automatically for that. I’m just jealous. But, if you talk incessantly about how easy it was for you to do that, I might just have to shove some cookies down your throat and call you a not-so-nice word.
Disclaimer: I realize I could be labeled a motherbitch for many reasons. People who live in glass houses and all that stuff…but my blog isn’t made of glass, so I can have fun throwing stones here.