Oh, do I love it when I find a gem hidden in the recesses of Facebook.  And oh, let me tell you, this one is a helluva doosey.

I happen to notice one of these: “Your friend commented on a status of someone or something that you care not a flipping fuck about; how about you take a gander at it?” Oh, Mark Zuckerburg, you’ve been reading my diary!

In this episode, my friend comments on a post by The Leaky B@@B.  Oh, how hilarious and slightly sad is that name?  I think the little ‘@’ for the nipples are absolutely hilarious, only because I have a dirty mind, and I can appreciate a good punctuation power play when I see one.  Not that I am judging (I am), but the slightly sad part is that this is not one of those irreverent, “let us bitch to our heart’s content about the f’ed up woes of suckling our spawn” types of organizations.  It is a “I love breastfeeding; it is so magical and aren’t unicorns pretty; let’s hold hands and sing kumbaya” type of group.

I’ll pause for my Internet stoning now, if you don’t mind.

Yes, I nursed my son.  And am in the middle of a year-long stint of nursing my daughter.  Yes, breastfeeding seems to be in the middle of a media firestorm at the moment.  But guess what?  I don’t give one iota one way or another if somebody wants to whip out a boob while picking out home furnishings at Target, or on the cover of TIME Magazine, or in their military uniform.  You too can participate in discussing all these issues and more at over at The Leaky B@@B.  Which is fine; and it is great for someone who has a desire to discuss such hot-button topics, because holy mother of god, that is an enormous areola!  

One thing I personally can’t get behind is posting pictures of my knockers on Facebook.  Maybe that’s just me… I’m a prude. So be it.

Also, I really love this friend of mine who finds comfort amongst the pics of chocolate-cookie-sized areolae.  She is one of those new-age-hippy-ish type o’gals.  She is all about organic this and that, cloth diapers, baby-wearing, expensive baby shampoo and will probably make her own baby food and teach her baby sign-language.  I do most of that, too.  Except the cloth diapers and ritzy baby shampoo.  I am honestly too lazy to wash cloth diapers.  And really, this post is not a dig at her, or anyone else like her at all.  Pinkie swear.

Moving on…  Check out The Leaky B@@B’s post for yourself:

And I’m thinking What in the hell is ELIMINATION COMMUNICATION??  So I click on the post, and find this diamond in the rough waiting for me:

Okay… Wait, what was that?  “Diaper free from birth?”  Take a moment.  You may want to read that again.

Lady, PUH-LEASE.  My kid has been shitting gold coins and reciting the Preamble to the Constitution since she came home from the hospital.

This chickadee is either completely and utterly insane, or I am totally calling bullshit.  Let us examine this situation, shall we?  This woman and her entire house are either covered in human excrement night and day, or she is pulling a fast one on us.

After my extensive research (read: briefly skimming the Wikipedia page on Elimination Communication), I discovered that you “use timing, signals, cues, and intuition to address an infant’s need to eliminate waste.”  I think that means; “Holy crap, Nathan!  Alice is making the ‘I’m gonna shit my (non existent) diaper’ face.  Quick!  Get the bucket!  Thundercats are GOOOO!

I mean, what are you supposed to do once you see a “signal?”  Make a run for it and hold them over the toilet?  Geeze, it is hard enough to catch spitup from oozing into my bra, now I’ve got both ends to worry about?  I can only assume that you don a hazmat suit 24 hours a day, or maybe you wrap the kid up in a highly absorbent towel or something…

Oh wait, I think they have a name for those towels…  They are called DIAPERS.

And did you catch the bit about using “intuition” to anticipate a blowout?  Oh, alright.  Make a wild-ass guess.  Why don’t you apply for that job over at Google while you are at it?  I think your luck may shine just a bit brighter while playing the stock market than playing it wild and fast betting on your infant child’s anus.

I have now fully come to terms with the fact that I am a terrible parent.  Not only do I allow my children to watch television, play on an iPad and let them eat processed macaroni and cheese, I also have no idea when they are going to drop a duece.  And I am clogging up the world’s landfills with disposable diapers.  Bonus points for me.

I find solace in the fact that I may someday live to see the day where I own a white sofa; something I am betting Ms. Diaper-Free could never even dream of.  Suck. On. That, my love.