How are you? Is everything good with you? Can I get you a beverage?
I’m not a mom. I may be in the future, but then, I may not be. I’d love to give you a more definitive answer, but unfortunately I smashed my crystal ball in a fit of rage last week when I found out I would never be a princess ballerina. I know that there’s a lot of discussion about “moms vs. non-moms” and a lot of heated arguments on both sides. I’m not here for a heated argument; I’m really just not one for confrontation. I also don’t purport to speak for all “non-moms”, just me. And so, here are some things about me that I’d like all of you to know.
I don’t hate your kids.
Really, I don’t. I mean, sure I didn’t totally love that kid in Target who was running amok and throwing things at me while her mother stood by and giggled about how “outgoing” she was. But in general, I’m not some child-hating monster. Kids say hilarious and inappropriate things, and that amuses me greatly. I like being amused.
I like spending time with your kids.
Now, I don’t want to spend every waking moment with them, but in general I think they’re fun little people. I mean really, is there anything more hilarious than a toddler lifting up her skirt to proudly show off her big girl panties? Come on, that’s some funny stuff, especially in crowded public spaces. I’m also a big fan of letting your kids eat their fill of junk food, run around, and pull out every single thing that might be fun to play with. I wouldn’t do that at your house, because that would be rude, but at my house, my rules. And my rules are there are no rules. I’m okay with handing a hyped-up-on-sugar-and-running-
My dog is not the same as your child.
Yes, I have a dog. Yes, I love, spoil and pamper my dog. Yes, I love to talk about him and show off pictures. But please don’t insult me by assuming I think that my dog is anything like your child. I’m not a moron. My dog is a dog, your kid a human being you are responsible for shaping into a well adjusted and productive member of society. Apples and oranges.
I want to be your friend.
I’ve heard a lot of moms say that their friends without kids abandoned them after they had a baby. I’m sorry, but if that’s the case, you had shitty friends to begin with. Most of my “mom friends” are women I became friends with after they had kids. I’ll let you in on a secret, having kids is not something I take into consideration before becoming your friend. Are you awesome? Great, let’s be friends. And if I do something unintentionally inconsiderate – like ask you to have lunch in the middle of Junior’s naptime – please don’t just write me off. Tell me what works best for you. Would you rather I tweet you because the ding of a text message might wake up the baby? Just tell me. I’m adaptable, and I really do like you.
I’m terrified of your baby.
It’s true, your baby terrifies me. Really it’s only until they learn to sit up on their own, then I’m okay. But before that? Please don’t hand me your baby. I’m not being a soulless bitchy monster who hates babies. Honestly, your baby is really small and really fragile and I’m afraid I’ll break him or her. I mean seriously, you have to support the head, but not too hard because their skulls are soft, and they have delicate little bird bones that might snap if you hold them too tightly, but if you don’t hold them tightly enough you’ll drop them and all of those bird bones will break anyway and it’s just. too. much. pressure. Let me admire your infant from afar.
I could go on, but I like the number five, so let’s leave it at five things I want moms to know about me. Now how about that beverage? You look like you could use a cup of coffee, and I’m buying.