the smell of my desperation has become a stench

Eye roller

Last night after everyone finished dinner, we sat around the table and talked about our days. Yes, we still do this, but not because we love our children and want them to have warm memories. No. We do this so that I can write about it here and exploit the idea of parenthood for cash! Whee!

We’d all explained our least favorite and most favorite parts of the day, and when we got to the part of the program where we discuss what we are thankful for Leta said, “I’m thankful for babies and children. Because otherwise, how would we have kids?”

And she said it as if she had read it in a manual somewhere, that babies and kids just spontaneously multiply. Or maybe they’re like amoebas and divide themselves in half through fission. That’s such a horrifying thought! Legions of multiplying kids covering the earth like a cancer, snot and permanent marker and sharp, upturned Legos in the crevices of every sofa.

There would be no place safe to sit!

I looked at her across the table and said, “Leta, babies and children have nothing to do with how kids are produced.” I was risking a broader, more uncomfortable conversation, but whatever. I wasn’t feeling mean, per say, but she sounded a little too confident about something wholly incorrect. It would have been irresponsible of me to let that go, irresponsible and HERE WAS MY CHANCE TO BE RIGHT.

I spend my day job being and doing it wrong. Hell yes, I will snatch victory from a seven-year-old.

She didn’t flinch, returned my stare with one equally convinced and blurted, “YUP.”

Before I could even process her response she hopped up from the table with her plate and rushed it to the sink. My kid had basically just told me how cute I was sitting there thinking I had the story straight. Obviously she’s been reading twitter.

That’s fine. I’m okay. I’ll remember this when we’re having that more uncomfortable conversation. And when her eyes inevitably widen with disbelief I’ll be like, WHERE ARE THOSE BABIES AND CHILDREN NOW, HUH?

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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