Raising my beautiful cherubs is my sole purpose in life. I am a womb with two legs. Madame Bovary? More like Madame Ovaries. (I haven’t read the book, and I definitely didn’t check it out of the local library before my tradwife besties had it banned.) Please take away my rights to my own body—oh wait, you already did. Cool. I am an unstoppable life-giving vessel doing my God-given part. My husband, Jedediah Jehoshaphat, is out there chopping wood, stocking our underground fallout bunker, and watching football with his friends.
(For the record, I never wrote this, because traditionally, women are property who can’t read or write, obviously.)
It’s been three months nonstop with my little darlings, Rifle (8), Brick (7), Eagle (6), Riesling Marie (5), and Paizleee Marie (also 5—they are not twins), and I’ve never been happier. Every September, I am devastated to be without them and feel not the slightest hint of relief, calm, or relaxation in their absence.
For those advising an attempt to take over the Republican Party. I think candidly that that is even less likely than taking over the Democratic Party.