You see, being a mother of young children, especially, a 2-year-old… leaves little space in my life for privacy, composure, class or… ego.
There is no ego when one is asked, “Mama poo-poo in the shower?” (By the way, the answer is a booming, “NO!”… grody, ewww.)
There is no privacy when one is asked from across the room, “Mama, you wearing undies?” (This time, the answer was “Yes.”)
There is no hope for class when one is greeted with, “Mama! Yook! A-baby is pickin’ a-my nose!” (Nice.)
There is no hope for composure when carrying my 2-year-old under my arm like a football - kicking and screaming - because the 10 minutes looking at the crabs at the market was not the LIFETIME she wanted to spend with them. Lemme tell ya - there were 120 billion ugly crabs, and if she were Miss Pink Fluffy Ruler of All, each one would have been appointed a special name…
And then last night… Charlie and his scrawny Christmas tree lit up the TV set… Lucy insisted on a blanket as we snuggled as tightly as ever… I listened to her running commentary on the funny doggy, and the girl named Yucy (Lucy) just like her!… I could feel her giggles as the characters danced their silly jigs and somehow - those things that might spare my “reputation” are just not all that important.
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