I need to vent. About someone. Someones. About mothers.
Let me clarify that I’m not talking about all mothers. Just some. Probably not you. You and me…we’re good.
This weekend was Radley’s birthday party, and Kiefer had to run to the store, so I was the only adult there when children were getting dropped off. Several of the parents know me now, so they happily left their children with me.
But it reminded me of Radley’s birthday party last year when I had an unfortunate encounter with a mother. I know I tend to exagerrate, but this time I’m not.
The mother and I were chatting, and then suddenly she asked the question that doomed our conversation.
Mother: So are you Boo or Radley’s mother?
Me: Neither. They’re both Kiefer and his ex’s children.
Mother (starts looking around for a child she doesn’t recognize): Do you and Kiefer have any children?
And that was the end of our conversation. She didn’t talk to me for the rest of the night.
Seriously? Since when did not having children make me a lower life form and unworthy of your conversation?
Do I have any children? No.
But you know what? I know a thing or two about children.
I spent years babysitting.
I used to be a teacher.
I have friends with children.
I have a cat who sometimes wakes me up several times a night. At least your infant will grow out of that.
And I’ve spent the last 2.5 years with Boo and Radley.
And just because I don’t have a child doesn’t mean I don’t want one.
All of that makes me worthy of your conversation. I swear I’m not going to look at you and say, “Bay-bee? What’s that?”
Refusing to talk to me means I have to resort to other forms of entertainment: Like picturing you buried up to your neck in a mound of dirty diapers.