I know I’m sinfully late with this recap. But better late than never. Just like Gary Shirley, hitting the gym “hardcore.”
Let’s get right into it.
I’m Leah. Corey is her baby daddy and he is continuing in the esteemed mush mouth footprints (mouth-prints?) of such other Tennessee Teen Mom luminaries as Ryan, Maci’s baby daddy. You won’t be able to understand the bulk of his utterances.
So Leah’s autobiography posits cheating on her teen boyfriend with another teen boy as her main life mistake?
I submit the following photo evidence of a way, way graver mistake.
Aleeah. And her twin is named Ali. Maybe she’s positioning them for a preteen television sitcom career?
Nice, the powers that be at MTV have heard my complaining about impenetrable dialects!
Normally I find it offensive when English speakers are subtitled. Not this time, baby. I want to follow dialogue.
When the hell did Madonna piercings and lower Madonna piercings, or whatever Leah has on her sub-lip-fat area is called, reach into the heartland of America, through the byways of Appalachia and become a routine accessory of our young people? Where was I, grad school, working, and having a baby, that I missed this?
Poor little girls, dressed as weird old lady bathroom Christmas toilet paper doilies.
I feel bad Corey didn’t come to her graduation. I get the sense it means a lot to these people. I didn’t even go to my own graduation, but I’m practicing empathy, here.
Okay, all done.
Something about fried chicken does say “come home to me, baby.” Not even kidding. It’s like page 1 in the Feed Your Wayward Man Cookbook. The Velveeta macaroni and cheese says “stay awhile.”
In Tennesee-man-boy-patois “my bed’s been hurtin’ my back” apparently means “I want to start sleeping in your bed, instead, on a permanent basis,” which in turn means “let’s get back into a monogamous romantic relationship.” I’m learning so much; it’s like the WPA Appalachian folklore recordings all over again.
Come back, Corey! You’re so educational. And cute when you cry.
I’m Kailyn. Now you know there’s no chance she’d give her child a normally-spelled name, since her name has an intrusive /y/.
Oh, wait, she named her son Isaac, complete with biblically orthodox spelling. Maybe Kailyn will surprise me.
Jo’s family’s McMansion is strange. Also strange is Kailyn’s totally unemotional response to their “break-up.”
Okay, so Suzi, the mom, is really out to lunch.
At the diner.
Isaac’s paternal grandmother is the youngest-looking grandma ever. Whether she achieved this through repeated generations of early motherhood or superior genes is not important. What’s important is that she will get to be a great-great-grandma-GILF. A GGGILF if you’re counting.
Okay, it’s really weird that Kailyn is moving to the basement of her baby-in-laws’ house. It’s like the crazy woman in the attic in Victorian literature. Except it’s the baby momma in the basement.
“She did it to herself”? Whoa there Jo. That’s some sick shit right there. He’s quickly turning into the most unlikeable baby daddy of the whole season. And he’s the only baby daddy on the show.
I don’t even like the looks of him. And his lack of facial animation. He alternates between smirks and scowls.
“I’m already going out with a guy I met at Sports Authority” is the new…you know. Dressing alike breeds affection. And absence makes the heart grow fonder, as poor Kailyn’s mama is wont to say. Now go away.
They are like Mao’s Youth Army, having children for the motherland and working the fields sneaker stockrooms.
I’m Chelsea. She’s tan and the one with the “good support system.”
So rather than the bad-family-lost-highway to teen motherhood, she took the scenic, good-family-that-set-no-limits-and-spoiled-me route.
They all end up at the same place, though: the rest stop Roy Rogers known as Teen Mom. (That’s the exit before the US Weekly cover story beauty salon).
Not even an apartment, this girl gets? A nice house? For her baby to have diaper blow-outs in, and for her to chill bachelorette girl-pad style? So teen motherhood is like getting into a good university where your parents pay for nice off-campus housing for you and your buddies?
Why is Chelsea acting like she’s never seen a baby before, much less cared for one? Why is her hair the meeting place of two different ethnicities of hair colors?
So roommate Megan is actually a “roommate”? As in, undercover same-sex domestic life partner? Awesome. And a Teen Mom first. Aubree has two moms. And two e’s in her name. Maybe she can loan one to “Jo.”
I would love to see the make-up and hair product shelves in this house. Between Chelsea and her domestic partner, I bet it rivals Jenelle’s jean shorts collection.
Ahh, time for a little Island World Italian cuisine. And stuff.
Her date is kind of cute, though, if a bit challenged at dating.
Don’t worry, Chelsea, as Dad says, “it’s never too late.” Even at the advanced age of 17. Thanks, Dad!
Look, the diary graphics people made a funny about Chelsea’s Ann-Margret meets raccoon eye makeup application.
What’s up? I’m Jenelle. I can’t really be expected to say anything as un-badass as “hi” or “hello,” can I? I’m Jenelle, mothas, and I know you’ve been waiting for me.
Yes, yes, I have. Jace’s father dropped off the planet, onto another planet called Juvenile Drug Detention Center-alpha 4987, perhaps? We know it exists because astronomers can measure the gravitational pull it exerts on a nearby star. Scientists speculate its atmosphere is made up of marijuana and methamphetamines, a perfect cocktail for Teen Mom baby daddy lifeforms. When beings from this alternate-reality multi-dimension string world enter our world, with only 4-dimensions, we can only see them as 3-d male models in China.
Back on Earth, Jenelle is a one-time beach bunny who manages a delicate balance of excellent baby-care and social engagements.
Anyway back on Earth Earth, Jace is now 9 months old and ready to begin his free state-offered Early Intervention testing.
I’m glad to see Jenelle is kind of pretty in her own trashtastic way, because she’s my doppelganger, dammit! I feel proud. Somebody get this girl a recording contract. She can be the new Ke$sha.
Somebody explain Batty Nana’s accent to me. She’s North Carolinian, by way of France, but has a wicked Boston accent? Is she Cajun?
Baby Jace is cute. New Baby Leah?
Oh no. Here it comes. The moment a Teen Mom leaves a baby in a bathtub.
Glossed over? Are angry MTV.com commenters up in arms? Not really? Did I miss something? Is leaving the baby in the bath while you leave the room not the cardinal sin of baby safety it used to be?
Wait, why is Jace in day care? So Jenelle can make YouTube videos while her mom goes to work? And where is this bar that they went to and drank and rode bulls? An underage club with virgin drinks?
So Jenelle’s obviously not a Dr. Sears attachment-mama acolyte, but Batty Nana is making it worse and not letting her do anything so she can complain more. And make more empty threats. 1-2-3-bing-bing!
I knew texting was interfering with a lot of things in our modern culture, like business meetings, junior high classes, and awkward conversations during elevator rides, but I didn’t know it was actually interrupting parenthood. Leave it to Jenelle to be an early adopter.
Jenelle can never pick what Jace wears, because when she does, uh?
He gets a one-shoulder look. Very Ke$sha.
Okay, so why do these babies have like the most minimal bedtime routine ever? They just get plopped in their crib and just go to sleep with no crying, no fuss, no bottles, no stories, no infant protestations? Is that the whole good-baby-by-neglect parenting technique I never mastered? Or am I just unlucky?
It’s crucial the baby gets off to bed early so mom and grandma can have a rip-roaring balls to the wall brawl.
I feel like this is the appropriate time to ask that eternal Teen Mom question, “Where is her dad?” With “her” referring to Jenelle this time.
Speaking of facial piercings, this next chap (lady?) looks like he (she?) might be sporting some huge versions of those really ugly lip pimples that turn white. You know you know what I mean.
“It’s a police!” And Jenelle’s about to add an order of protection to her stack of nifty paperwork!
Gotta love the “you must be a bad mom because look how I turned out!” defense. It’s like calling your own son an SOB.
Ciao, bellas. Until next time. Watch out for crabs, and all the rest. And cops, if you’re Jenelle. Or Jenelle’s doppelganger. Gotta run (from a police)!