Heather Havrilesky: Our Crush Is Officially Over!

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In Salon this week, my FORMER crush, Heather Havrilesky, pushes me too far in the ‘who’s more screwed and, therefore, more powerful’ debate.

It’s on, bee-yotch!

What’s her pitiful argument for ‘her’ team?:

President Obama has chosen a sharp and able-bodied team to head his administration, but if he really wants to yank the country out of its dismal state, I suggest he enlist the help of some expectant mothers, preferably in their third trimester of pregnancy.

Because while Obama may have selected an experienced and savvy collection of specialists to lead this nation out of its hard times, no one on Earth has the ability to tackle big, unwieldy problems quite like a woman in the home stretch of pregnancy. In addition to manufacturing a brand-new human being, a feat of nearly supernatural proportions in and of itself, pregnant women also have an uncanny knack for grabbing the most daunting task by the throat, wrestling it to the floor and smashing its face into the carpet until it yells “Mother!”

Take it from me, now seven months pregnant with my second child. Despite my growing resemblance to Jabba the Hutt, I’ve entered a frenzied state of activity, conquering every task I encounter, big or small, with the focus and determination of a speed-addled jihadist. Each day, I find myself interrupting my furious scrubbing of the stovetop to empty out the fridge, call the plumber, e-mail my boss and complete a 2,000-word treatise on the use of fashion to highlight socioeconomic differences on “Gossip Girl.” Those who know me well are astounded by my sudden transformation from sullen sloth to Highly Effective Person. Instead of daydreaming or procrastinating or turning the screw (some favorite hobbies during non-gestational periods), I’m in a constant state of getting things done, whether it’s trawling eBay for a replica of the 18-year-old teddy bear my husband lost on an errand with my 2-year-old daughter (“Some guy kidnap Andy the Bear!”—those plaintive words haunt my vivid, pregnant-lady dreams each night) or typing out a five-page letter to my local congresswoman regarding the inefficient traffic patterns in my neighborhood.”

Husband? Did that heifer say “husband?” In conjunction with “running an errand?”

Those of us who are parenting alone, for whatever reason, and for however long, might just beg to differ with her ‘most powerful’ choice.

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