Kid: “Wow, you look so pretty!”
Me (admittedly blushing): “Oh my goodness thank you that’s so unexpected but so sweet!”
Kid (confused): “It wasn’t a compliment, but ok.”
Me: “Telling me I’m pretty isn’t a compliment?”
Kid: “I didn’t say you looked pretty, I said you looked sweaty.”
Kid: “You did that thing my mom always says I do.”
Me: “What’s that?”
Kid: “Hearing what you want to hear.”
Me: “Hahah yeah I guess so!”
I hate you.
Given the various issues we experienced during my last pregnancy and in the past year, Eric and I thought it would be wise and responsible to make a list of factors we need to very seriously consider before having a second child.
Here’s the final list:
- Not birthing it during Outer Banks family vacation.
Eric sits down with Nora, who is playing with her new favorite toy– a box of tampons….
Eric: “Hey! Did you find a new toy? You like tampons? You’ll use tampons one day, you know. Dad’s not gonna wanna hear about it. (picks one up, examines wrapper) Look, this one says ‘L’ on it…and this one says ‘R’. Huh, they make different tampons for righties and lefties? Who knew!”
A man in the elevator smiles at Nora…
Man: “A boy, right?”
Me: “Sure, it’s possible.”
Me: “No gender identity has been expressed yet….”
Me: “She has a vagina, though.”
Me: “Have a nice day!” (exit elevator. High five Nora.)
I took Nora to a music class in the park this morning, and the kid next to her was dancing up a storm:
Me: “Look at her go! How old is she?”
Nanny: “Just turned one. Her Mom used to be a Rockette, so you can see she got the dancing gene.”
Me: “Totally! That’s great.”
Nanny: “Your baby has good rhythm too! You must be a really good dancer!”
Me: “Well, I don’t want to brag but….yes. Yes I am.”
Actual footage of me at my friend’s wedding this weekend:
(Part of the Ebola Mom series)
Therapist: “How has the motherhood balance been going?”
Me: “Actually much better lately. I’m definitely finding my groove. There’s still just like a constant underlying worry/anxiety, though.”
Therapist: “Right. But I think it’s fair to say that’s just what it is to be a parent.”
Me: “So the worrying never goes away?”
Therapist: “I’d say maybe around age 70.”
Me: “I have to wait until I’m 70?!”
Therapist: “No- until Nora is 70.”
Me: “But I’ll be dead.”
Completing sentences with words from a word bank. One of the words is “friend.”
Me: “It’s always nice to make a new….”
Kid: <blank stare>
Me: “Starts with an ‘f’…”
He’s not wrong.
Me (to myself, in the mirror): “Ok, this [insert any unsightly skin imperfection– zit, wrinkle, mole, scar] is really bothering me, but I’m sure it’s one of those things that only I notice, and it’s totally imperceptible to everyone else.” (Vow not to focus on it. Convince self it’s not even there.)
10 minutes later, wake Nora up.
Nora: <Opens eyes. Immediately zooms in on skin imperfection with sniper-like focus. Lunges at it with two hands. Slaps it. Twists it between her little devil fingers. Tries to yank it off. Bites at it. Cackles maniacally.>