In Which I Become A Hater

Beyonce gave birth last night to the new queen of the world, Ivy Blue. 'Twas a C-section. Ok. Great.

Jay-Z and Beyonce rented out an ENTIRE floor at a NYC hospital and she checked in under a pseudonym. Clearly that did nothing since we all know their biznazz. But an entire floor? Millions of dollars for an entire floor? If you need that much privacy, just have the doctor come to your palatial apartment/mansion/rodeo ranch. I'm going to hope that other women needing to give birth didn't get turned away for this. Or I'll hope that it's really just a rumor. But either way....yes I fully admit that I'm a HATERRRRR. I drank the haterade and it is good. Compared to my birthing experience, which yea I spent 16 hours without food and with the knowledge that my kid was about to wreck some shit up....who WOULDN'T want the red carpet rolled out for them? This kid is going to be even greater than the coming of Suri Cruise. We hound their private lives for a glimpse of what it might be like as them or even as their offspring.

But do I really want to know? Because I'll just see that their kid is dressed in really expensive onesies while my kid is in Carter's...and not even SEAN CARTER's. (I do love me some good sales at Carter's though, not gonna lie). There's the hint of jealousy, there's the "I wish I had a bajillion dollars to provide for my family."

But at the end of the day, the only pictures floating on the internet of my beautiful little girl will be because I posted them there, not some ignorant fool trying to run me off the road for a picture. My middle-class lifestyle (if that) suits me just fine. My car works to get us to work and lets us have fun on the weekend. Jovie gets to experience daycare without a flood of stories out about her ("Breaking news! Jovie stole Mikey's toy while he was crossing the classroom. What are Ryan and Lexi teaching her at home?!") and we get to sit on the couch like most Americans after she's in bed and just enjoy the rest of the day.

And still.....I hate.