In selecting Sara Palin as his running mate, John McCain wasn’t even trying to disguise his blatant pandering to women and I hope most are wise enough to see it. The mindset that we women are interchangeable because we have the same parts should be enough to give all thinking women pause. Apparently, it doesn’t matter to whom the fallopian tubes belong. To McCain et.al., vagina is vagina is vagina whether it’s attached to Hillary Clinton or Condoleezza Rice or an ex-beauty queen with two-years’ experience running the largest state in the nation whose population is less then one-million people. “Other than bringing a set of ovaries to this ticket,” one friend said to me the other night, “what does she have to offer?”

True to expectation, Palin is frighteningly conservative; any exalted endorsement by Ralph Reed gets my hackles up. Sarah Palin doesn’t believe the science that proves the polar ice caps are melting, she doesn’t think the Polar Bear should be on the endangered species list (even sued the Federal government over it), she wants to drill in ANWAR, she’s digs on creationism and thinks it’s a great topic for the classroom, she’s anti-choice, and—AND!— she doesn’t wear any pantsuits (at least she won’t be referring to any sisterhood thereof; grimace). I ask you: why she gotta be hatin’ on Talbot’s?

Palin’s also very pretty in the way that women who pin those faux hairpieces with lots of curls to the tops of their heads are pretty. That McCain picked a looker is a calculated move; there are plenty of smart women with more experience than Palin who would be excellent candidates but who wouldn’t quite give America the same collective erection.

On it’s face, the gamble seems to be that looks are gonna carry the day for the GOP. Wonkette, who’s had a crush on the nation’s premier “GILF” (Jennifer Granholm’s gotta be in there somewhere, right?) for some time now, referred to Palin as a “STONE. COLD. FOX.” As in, “…no one will ever care about this [scandal she's involved in] on a national scale” because they all want to bone her. Not only would it be unprecedented to have a woman Vice President, but one that Americans could masturbate to, as well? That might just be the one innovative thing John McCain could do for the country.

Of course Palin forces all of us to once again revisit the pervasive sexism that exists in this country. I admit that as I read about her on Friday morning—after the McCain camp so deftly bumped Obama’s incredible Thursday night rally from the top of the fold—my first thoughts were disappointingly sexist: She’s a freaking pageant queen! She has five young children, one with Down Syndrome! She doesn’t own a pair of pants! Her husband is named “Todd”! This fact alone should disqualify her.

I struggled with these thoughts, which run counter to my belief system that women can do anything we want to do, anything men can do. But I also believe that “having it all” is an illusion, that we make choices in our lives and sacrifices always have to be made, which is true for women and men. Something must be given up for something else to be gained. If you decide to have children, you’re making a commitment to being a parent and certain other ambitions have to be put on hold if you want to truly be present in the lives of your kids. Certainly, how Palin—or anyone else—chooses to parent is none of my buisness. But the packaging of her as Every Woman, as the one whose going to “shatter that glass ceiling,” as if she’s even remotely in Hilary Clinton’s league, is condescending and deeply insulting.

And then there is the double-standard which I expect will be on full display when Joe BIden goes to debate Palin. Without question, he’ll school her when it comes to foreign policy. There is no way she can have all the Cliff Notes-worth of Biden’s experience memorized by that time (or maybe the moderaters will lob only easy questions and it won’t matter). But lawdy help the man if he is perceived in any way as being mean to her. The punditry with have a field day with him, everything will be woven and spun until Biden somehow looks like Satan and Palin the wronged party.

All of which makes me very concerned.

As I partake in my own frenetic inner dialogue and then engage with my friends about it, I am terribly worried about the McCain/Palin ticket. Because here’s the thing: With every conversation, we inadvertantly discount the possibility that she could be in anyway qualified and therefore help the Repubs lower the bar of expectations, making it impossible not to exceed them. Which is ultimately what they’re are aiming for. They did it with Bush (remember the debates he “won” with Al Gore in 2000?) and they’re doing it again now. It’s a tried and true tactic and why change what ain’t broke? Besides, we all know that Americans are a) stupid and b) forgive practically anything if the packaging looks good.

Karl Rove’s greasy fingerprints are all over this one and I think it would be wise of voters to be extremely careful about how we pigeonhole Sarah Palin.

In the past two days alone, I’ve been bitten, scratched, kicked, slapped and punched (twice in the eye and once in public). I’ve been growled at, sneered at, glared at, spit on and stomped away from. I’ve had pee wiped on my jeans with small brown hands while large brown eyes promised it wasn’t urine.

I’d like to say that I handled these moments with calmness and maturity but that would be a lie almost as big as the anger I’m forced to wrestle with given the circumstances. The first few incidents I dealt with well enough; I instantly deferred to the father and walked away. Really pissed off and hyperventilating, but I did walk away. The most recent incidents, however…well. I lost my shit, which I may write more about later.

Shortly after the changeling awoke for her eighth or ninth time last night (I lost count), I told Sam that I wanted out, that I’m just a ghost in our lives anyway, that I wanted to get my own apartment. Of course, it doesn’t matter where I go because as a friend told me once, wherever I go, there I am. I could move down the street or across the Atlantic and there I would be, alone with myself. Well, probably not alone. I have a feeling that Guilt and Remorse would be keeping me company.

The thing is, there are few situations in life from which we cannot extricate ourselves: You’re unhappy in your marriage, you get a divorce. You don’t like your job, you get a new one. Aren’t crazy about the town in which you live, you move on. But once you’re a parent, you’re always a parent. It’s irrevocable. And nearly unbearable when you can’t stand your child.

During the adoption process, Sam and I had many, many conversations about parenting and I distinctly recall that we didn’t subscribe to the let-the-baby-cry-it-out technique. So how we ended up getting sucked into that horror show I’m not quite sure; in reality, it was probably my doing but Sam was gallant enough to stand in solidarity. Oh how I love this man. At any rate, by 8:30 last night, we’d had enough and decided that we were proving nothing by letting our child shriek. So it was that Ruby fell asleep immediately (again) on my chest where, at a slightly elevated angle, the goo dripping ceaselessly from her nose to her throat couldn’t end up choking her into consciousness. Sam eventually moved her to her crib where she slept through the night and I was able to remove my make-up, brush my teeth and take Mama’s Cocktail: 4 Ibuprofen, a lipitor and a benadryl…thank GODESS for bendadryl.

Today was better, though the bodily functions remain. Ruby came to work with me but not before we stopped at Sam’s shop for coffee. Ever the AOE mascot, Ruby was in her usual, darling form save the boogers running down her face and smeared across her forehead. I tried to clean her up, repeatedly, but she protested loudly while twisting and thrashing to be free of my grasp. So I gave up and pretended like she was fresh out of the shower. Public parenting has the ability to make me very self-conscious if I let it. Fortunately, Sam came to the rescue with a smile, a reassuring kiss and his sleeve. What a MAN…he used his SLEEVE to wipe her snot! Not me. Nope. I didn’t even think to consider offering up my $16 faux suede Target jacket. There’s that maternal instinct not kicking in again; it gets stalled in first sometimes. Note to self: sleeve of jacket can be washed, child will view you with idolatry later.

After putting in a frenetic two hours at work, I brought Ruby home and did the often elusive Nap Transfer: move the sleeping child from car seat to crib without disturbance. I always have to reward myself with a mental end zone dance when I successfully complete this particular feat of parenting; the feeling is not unlike sticking a first-shot parallel park job. On the left hand side of the street. In rush hour traffic. Lucky me, I was able to grab an hour to myself; I inhaled a slice of veggie lasagna, since there is no other way to eat as a parent, and read a few chapters in my book before I was on duty again. Feeling refreshed and competent (last night was but a blip on my radar), I took Ruby and Ella out for a walk where I happened upon a group of 8 year olds playing in the park. A darling little boy ran directly up to the stroller and shouted in my direction WHY’S SHE BLACK? I swear I heard a needle being dragged across a record and all sound coming to a complete halt as 7 other kids stopped what they were doing and waited together, eyes large and blinking, for my answer.

I was stunned at first but answered honestly in my best voice for second graders: because her BIRTHmother and BIRTHfather are black and I adopted her and I’M her MOTHER and I’M WHITE! The music started again, birds chirped, wind blew, the girls carried on with jumping rope and the boy skipped off with his football, all apparently satisfied with my meager explanation. I stood frozen in my spot, whipping myself (stoopidstoopidstoopid!) for adding the part about being white, a fact which clearly didn’t necessitate explanation. My girls and I left the park and sauntered home, my confidence just a little bit dented but not permanently damaged. Ella chose to be exemplary at the end of her leash and Ruby kicked her little legs while chatting with the clouds. The rest of the day was peaceful and loving. Ruby went down without hassle and had extra big smiles for both Sam and me tonight. Which really makes everything so damn worth it.