But my obvious flaws are beside the point. The point is that I periodically entrust the chubby-cheeked tyrant I birthed to other people – but not very often. I go on and on and on about how much I NEED A BREAK and how NICE it would be to escape for a few hours, but when push comes to shove, I’m like WAIT A MINUTE, you mean to be alone I have to be without my baby?!
WHAT SORT OF MATH IS THAT, YOU IMPOSTER?!
Invariably, Charlotte loves being away from me for a while. When I go to pick her up, even if it’s been an entire evening, she always looks at me like YEAH RIGHT, I’m supposed to go back home with you? Do you know what Grandmas and Grandpas do? THEY FEED ME YUMMY STUFF! AND PUT TOYS IN THE SINK FOR ME TO PLAY! AND LET ME PULL WEEDS! Mom, you only wish you were this cool...
Oh, but I miss her. When we’re apart, I obsess about her. In fact, whenever I’m without my daughter, I feel the need to tell everyone within a fifty-mile radius that I have one. I don’t really know why. Maybe I am unwittingly channeling their curiosity and they are looking at me thinking SO THAT IS WHAT THE MOTHER OF A REALLY ADORABLE TODDLER LOOKS LIKE, but I doubt it.
Also, I can tie that into the most completely unrelated conversations. Seriously. We went to a meeting recently where someone was talking about advertisement and even though right now I can’t think of a single way in which advertisement relates to childbearing, the next thing I knew our tablet had burped up some baby pictures. DAMNEDEST THING.
When I was single and probably much cooler, I hated people like me. They’d turn every conversation back to kids and I’d think okay, you put your sex organs to work, WELL DONE YOU, now can we return to our talk about window cleaners? Because that was actually interesting.
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