no new words lately, but sometimes old ones need to be said again.

Overeducated Waitress

(sum spontaneous prose dedicated to every woman
who ever got the water of postpartum depression
up her nose)

while scrubbing the stovetop again with the baby strapped to my chest
it occurs to me:
June Cleaver kept vodka in the laundry room for the same reason I keep abandoning the dishes to go
stare numbly at the garden, hoping for a ripe tomato or
significant growth in the winter greens.
we labor at the same tasks
dayafterdayafterday
and there is no appreciable result
no skyscrapers
no accolades
no quarterly reports
no published works
only a maintaining of socially prescribed norms

thou shalt have a clean stovetop
thou shalt have a healthy, well-fed happy offspring
within the prescribed percentiles of height and weight
and neuronal development
thou shalt have a full cupboard of sterilized breast pump parts
and clean laundry in which to clothe your kid, daily
thou shalt prepare…

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  1. Ya know. June cleverly operated behind her faux pearls, plaid dress, and high heels. How else could dear Beaver grow up with a heart and compassion?] But. Damn June. Women who stay at home, and make family and life work against all odds, deserve an OCEAN of accolades, not just subterfuge. Darn straight. Cause Mama is on deck 98% of the time. Love the guys. The attentive dads and supportive old men. Thanks for changing the modus operandi and weighing in. But… the person at the helm of this ship is most often, most often, the mama san. And she deserves a solid acclamation and affirmation of the work she does. Every single day.

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