A few weeks ago we were invited to a BBQ in the Middle of Nowhere, OH. (OK, stop laughing, there are places in Ohio that aren’t the middle of nowhere.) The friends hosting the gathering lived about 10 minutes from a very small town, on a sprawling farm with an enormous backyard. It was a great place to host a bunch of people, have a bonfire, and cook lots of food.

Cordy was in a particularly cranky mood that day, and we weren’t sure why at first. Sure, she has plenty of days where she’s cranky just for the sake of being cranky, but this wasn’t one of those days. Like parents who learn the meanings behind different cries from their baby, we are sometimes able to tell if she’s cranky for a reason or just because it’s Tuesday.

During lunch her mood darkened even more, and she started crying while eating. Bite, chew, chew, scream!, chew, swallow, bite, chew, scream! Our warrior princess would never let a cranky spell get in the way of her mealtime, so something had to be wrong.

A quick swipe of my finger in her mouth revealed all. Her 2-year molars were just under her gums! Those rough, rocky teeth were surely the cause of her discomfort.

Cordy had probably forgotten her other teething experiences. All of her other teeth came in one big rush, between 9 and 18 months, and often 2 or 4 at a time. So naturally she had forgotten how to deal with teething.

I searched the diaper bag for something to numb the pain. Oragel? Nope. Tylenol? Nope. Motrin? Nope. Damn.

There was one other mother with a toddler there, so I asked her if she had any of the above items, but she didn’t. We both packed supplies for diaper blowouts, rashes, and other emergencies, but nothing for teething.

It was at that point that Cordy had reached her limit of tolerance with her teeth. She threw herself onto the concrete garage floor and screamed in misery. The nearest town was at least 10 minutes away, and I don’t think they had a grocery or a drugstore. I tried giving her something cold to chew on, but she swatted it away several times. We were out of luck. I frantically looked around for anything to ease Cordelia’s pain.

And that’s when I spied the bottle of Glenlivet 18 on the table nearby.

I’ve heard the stories. Scotch on a baby’s gums helps with teething pain. Some say rum instead, and others brandy, but the story is generally the same. People in my grandmother’s generation say they used it all the time with their babies. I know my mom turned out OK, despite her baby boozing days. Other friends at the gathering, who are the parents of teenagers now, said they had used the same treatment on their children as babies.

Then I thought to myself: Am I a bad mother for doing this? I’m considering giving my child scotch – am I crazy? Sure, it’s good single-malt scotch, so at least she won’t develop a taste for the bad stuff, but am I going to become a pariah for this?

I looked back and forth between the bottle of scotch and Cordy’s screaming, writhing figure on the floor for about 2.4 seconds. And then I grabbed the bottle, stuck my finger in the opening, and tipped it upside down.

Aaron held Cordy still while I put my scotch-flavored finger in her mouth and rubbed her gums. At first, she screamed even louder, but quickly she stopped and gave me the strangest look, as if to say, “WTF?” I looked back at my friends uneasily, as they peered over my shoulder to see what the results would be. I soaked my finger one more time and applied it to the other side of her mouth, with no protest this time.

It worked. She stopped crying and laid on the floor with a puzzled look on her face. I stood up and returned the bottle to the table. The other toddler mom in the crowd laughed and told me Cordy’s eyes were fixed on the bottle as I walked back to the table. A few minutes later, Cordy stood up and went back to her snacks, eating without any screaming in-between this time.

Before you go calling child protective services, please note that the amount of scotch she was given was very small. Just enough to wet my finger, honestly, and just enough to numb her gums. I’m not even sure if it worked to numb her gums, or if she was simply shocked into silence by the strange flavor I put in her mouth. Either way, it worked, so I’m not complaining. She was in pain, all other options had failed, and it was the only thing I could think of at the moment.

(For those preparing an angry response to this, you should know: this will not be a regular thing. It was a one-time use only, and now that we know she’s teething again, the infant Motrin is back in the diaper bag. We will continue to use Oragel or Motrin in the future. Besides, Glenlivet 18 is expensive stuff, and we can’t afford to keep high-end single-malt scotch around for Cordy.)

Tonight Aaron and I were given our “time off for good behavior” pass, and my aunt watched Cordy so we could spend some time at the Dublin Irish Festival sans child. We were free to mingle with other adults, and no one knew we were of the breeder type!

We went to the festival last night as well (with Cordy), but tonight Gaelic Storm was playing, and we knew the loud music combined with a start time after Cordy’s bedtime would result in no fun for any of us, or anyone around us.

The concert was great, but before it started the lady behind the drinks counter was kind enough to smack me in the face with how old I am, or at least how old I look. I swear every word of this conversation is 100% true:

Server: (talking to woman in front of me) Ok, that will be two drink tokens, and I need to see your ID.

Woman: Oh, you need to see my ID? Uh, OK, hold on. (shows ID, server studies it)

Server: Yeah, we’re required to check ID for everyone.

(Woman takes her drink and walks away)

Me: I’d like a black cherry cocktail, please. (I start to take out my wallet to show my ID)

Server: (getting the drink) That will be two drink tokens, please.

Me: (handing her tokens as she turns away) Uh, don’t you need to see my ID? (holding up wallet)

Server: Oh. (not even glancing at ID) Yeah, sure, you’re fine. Next!

Can I say I felt a wee bit offended? Apparently even though they’re required to check ID on everyone, I clearly look too old to bother needing mine checked! I got a good look at the woman in front of me, and I would bet high that she’s older than me. After getting my drink, we proceeded to meet up with a friend and some of her friends, and quizzed each of them on how old they think I look. None said anything higher than 23, so adjusting for being nice (I’d adjust even higher if they were my friends, but most of them I had met for the first time that night), I’d say they thought I looked 25 or 27. Clearly still young enough to be carded, right?

So please, if your job involves any sort of bartending or serving of alcohol, be kind to the women who approach your counter, and ask to see their ID. I don’t care if they’re 60, with grey hair and a walker – ask anyway, and maybe throw in a comment or two about how they don’t look their age at all. It’ll not only flatter them, it’ll help you earn better tips, too.

As for me, I think it’s time for a deep moisturizing skin treatment before bed. Ugh.

At BlogHer, we all received t-shirts from a condom company, along with samples. We’ve all complained about the size of the t-shirts, but I think this picture really brings it home:

Now, if this isn’t your target demographic for condoms (start ’em young?), might I suggest larger t-shirts next year?

I’m finally shutting up about BlogHer now, right after this post. I already miss everyone. I wish I was back there being that person who was willing to just walk up to people and say hi. And I still have a lot of thoughts stewing in my head from the event that are simply too short to get into full posts. (Besides, if I took them all into full posts, you’d all stop reading from boredom.)

The solution? Bullets!

• There were a lot of beautiful women at BlogHer. By the end of Friday night, I was starting to wonder if I’d missed the spot on the form saying that you had to be beautiful to attend. Because if so I wasn’t fitting the bill, er, dress size. People I knew in “real life” joked that the event would be filled with socially awkward, overweight, plain jane women. After all, why would beautiful women spend so much time sitting behind a computer screen? But now I can show these people pictures to prove that female bloggers are not only beautiful women but also women who can carry on an entertaining conversation in person.

• Speaking of weight, a few of us wondered just what the sponsors were trying to tell us. We got a ton of free stuff. Some of the free stuff included a 3-month trial of Weight Watchers online, Contrex water (which claims to help in weight loss), a box of artificial sweetner, condoms, and a size medium t-shirt. So we all need to lose weight using Weight Watchers and drinking our “feminine water” so we can fit into the skinny t-shirts and then get some protected action with the condoms, right?

• And Contrex has to be the winner of Worst Product Name Ever. It sounds like birth control or some sort of medication: Contrex should not be taken with MAOI inhibitors. Side effects may include bloating, dizziness and a bad taste in your mouth. If any of your side effects are serious, please stop use of Contrex and speak with your doctor immediately. Do not use Contrex if you are pregnant, nursing, or plan to become pregnant in the near future.

• I don’t think I ever got used to meeting someone and having them say to me, “Yes, I read your blog all the time! I’m so happy to meet you!” I was flattered – really flattered – and usually left slightly speechless. It was one of the first times that I realized just how many people read what I write here in my little corner of the internet.

• There was one other blogger I got to meet in San Jose, although she wasn’t at the conference. Sunday night I met up with Violet the Verbose and her family for dinner and a chance to hang out. They’re in the middle of moving, and they have a 7 week old baby, which made it impossible for her to come to BlogHer, even if it was in her town. But she refused to be left out of the crazy fun, and even though she had no pasties, she decided to show off her hot nursing bra! She also introduced me to In-N-Out burger and gave me my first taste of this burger joint’s greasy goodness. Yum.

One more big thank you to the BlogHer organizers. Even though the pictures show the fun that was had, it was so much more than a big sorority party. My horizons were broadened, my mind opened to new ideas and new perspectives, and I got to experience a camaraderie I’ve never felt before. Everyone was a stranger to me, and yet I knew so many of them, or at least knew the part of them that they shared through their writings.

So thank you BlogHer, and thank you to all of the intelligent, warm, generous, and downright fabulous women I met this weekend. I can only hope that next year’s experience will be just as amazing in Chicago, and I hope I will get to meet more of you in person.

I’m done now. I swear.

This post has been bouncing around in my head for days now, and I’ve had to start and stop it many times. The final version is still disjointed, but at the moment I can’t smooth it out any more, so here it is. Others have already covered the topic far more eloquently and better than I can hope to, but I still feel the need to discuss it.

At BlogHer, the mommyblogger presence could not be ignored. I’d say we made up at least half of the attendees. As others have reported, there were a few isolated scuffles between mom and non-mom bloggers (geez, I just realized how West Side Story that sounded), but overall the conference was one big love fest for all. Or, at least, that’s how I saw it, and I could have simply been blind to anything else going on.

Yes, one woman posted a rant about mommybloggers, and it was nothing more than a venom-filled rant. There was no substance, no argument to be made, and looking back I can dismiss it. Also, during the panel with Arianna Huffington, another woman stood up to ask about woman who don’t have kids or significant others, and how they can escape becoming workaholics when their work often becomes their lives. It was a valid question – I think the uneasy feeling came when she said she didn’t have children, and several women burst into applause in support of a non-mommyblogger. The sudden applause caused me some uneasiness, not the question.

But I didn’t experience any “Oh, you’re just a mommyblogger” responses when I met with people. Maybe it’s because I look like a frumpy mom, and you can tell who I am a mile away, so there are no surprises. Maybe it’s because it was obvious from the name of my blog on my nametag. I don’t know. I was never made to feel less important or less valid because I am a mommyblogger.

That’s probably a good thing, too, because anyone who tried to pull that crap with me might have received an earful back in return, especially after the final panel with Arianna Huffington.

I am a mommy, I am a blogger, and I write about my child and the experience of being a mother. So therefore I am a mommyblogger. I don’t dislike the term at all. Instead, I embrace it with a sloppy, open-mouthed, toddler-style kiss. It is a part of who I am, and without the mommy part, I might never have entered into the blogging world. When asked what my blog was about (did you not read my nametag?), I gave a big smile and said proudly, “It’s a mommyblog!” (or “Itza mummyblug!” as Cordy would say)

As I said during the Mommyblogging is a Radical Act panel, I discovered blogs when Cordy was just over a year old. I spent my first year with her feeling isolated, lonely, and confused. I guess I expected to join some secret society when I became a mom, but it wasn’t there. Most of my friends with children lived out of town, and I felt like my childless friends couldn’t understand all that I was going through. (I’m sure they could have understood it, but I felt that they wouldn’t understand.) I had to reign myself in when around our childless friends, knowing that if I talked about my daughter too much their eyes would glaze over and we would never receive a dinner invitation again.

And then there was parenting itself. No matter how many parenting books are written by the experts, there is no one definitive how-to manual, and certainly not for your particular model of baby. That’s the beauty of humans – we’re all unique, and therefore as babies we’re all a pain in the ass to our parents, because we can’t articulate what our personal preferences are. It’s one big game of charades until they can communicate, and even then, kids still don’t know what they want. It’s enough to send a mommy right for the antidepressants.

I would look at Cordelia sometimes and cry. I wanted help from someone who had been through this, and been through it less than 20 years ago. I only wanted to know I wasn’t alone – that there were others with babies who wouldn’t nap, or that it was OK to skip rice cereal and go straight to oatmeal, or having fantasies of throwing your child out the window were normal as long as you didn’t act on it.

There were message boards, and those helped somewhat. But I found that on message boards, women wanted to keep the topics light. Cute stories, easy to fix problems, etc. And with the message thread format, sometimes your voice was lost in the sea of posts.

Finding blogs helped me tremendously. I found moms (and dads) who had struggled with similar issues to mine, and I learned that blogs were a great place to share your faults and admit that this parenting thing ain’t easy. From there I carved out my space, and was so relieved to have this space to share my feelings.

Mommyblogs are the new advice manuals, but they’re so much better than expert opinions. They’re stories from the trenches – real, honest, and sometimes raw – and they are also advice manuals with a community built around them. Many moms are finding their voices through this medium. We know that motherhood as a whole is considered worthless by many, but by finding our voices perhaps we can change that belief.

The strength I have discovered in myself through my writing has been incredible, and I’ve seen that strength developing in other bloggers as well. Had you told me a few years ago that I would be going to a conference of women writers in San Jose, CA by myself, I would have laughed at you. Maybe even laughed so hard that I snorted. I would have replied, “No way. I’m too scared to fly. And besides, there’s no way I could travel alone and have to spend a weekend with a bunch of strangers, especially all women. I’d be the outcast that everyone laughed at, hiding in the back and wishing I could be as cool as all of them.”

Today I’m proud to say I sat in the front of the room, I walked up to people and started conversations, I took risks, and I even got the courage to stand up in front of a large room of mommybloggers and ask a question to the panel. Which, if you knew how fast my heart was beating, you’d know that was a pretty impressive thing. I usually don’t speak up, but I got in the face of the hotel staff and yelled at them for their screw up. I was fearless.

So yeah, I’m a mommyblogger. Blogging has provided me the opportunity to find the community of women online that I can’t find in my own neighborhood, and it has afforded me the chance to get my own thoughts out on parenting. Others have helped me, and I can only help that my voice will give strength to another mom out there. I don’t know if I’m really a writer, but I am proud of what I have accomplished with this blog, and I hope to take it even further in the future, including the next step of working on a book, and perhaps other blogs in the future.

Arianna Huffington validated my feelings about the power of mommyblogs by saying that they tackle the most primal fears of motherhood and raising children. It’s very possible that mommyblogging has helped others (not just me) to be more fearless in their parenting, and if so then that is a powerful testament to the importance of mommyblogs. It’s not just about pictures of our kids and cute anecdotes (although that is enjoyable as well), but it’s also about social change.

Thank you to the wonderful folks at BlogHer for a thought-provoking conference that has left me questioning where I’m going in my life more than ever. And that’s not a complaint – that’s a compliment of the highest order.