how did I get here
a faster than light wormhole
invades my kitchen
I was running through the kitchen with a naked 20-month-old covered in spit up, and I slipped on a puddle of something in the floor. As we went sailing out of control toward the wall, a thought crossed my mind:
How is this me? How am I someone's mom? Not just one someone's mom, but three someones? When did this happen? What is going on here?
And then I was back in real time, narrowly avoiding a major collision, dumping the baby in the kitchen sink, rinsing him off and answering a barrage of "Mommy, can you…"s and "Mommy, will you…"s and "Mommy, I need…"s from the other two kids.
My super awesome BFF/co-hilarious bitch mamalibrarian and I were talking the other day and we discovered that we were both the kind of kid who tried to have as many babies as possible while playing Life when we were little. My goal used to be to have to get another car to fit all the kids in. What the hell was wrong with me?
And yet here I am, even with all of the shit going down these days, and even with flashes of "who am I?" "how did I get here?", I find I still have that craving to fill up as many cars as I can with babies.
Will I ever have more kids? I don't know. Probably not. I'm not sure it would be advisable both physically and emotionally to go through the trauma of pregnancy again. But do I still want more little butts running around the house, even as I feel guilty for not spending enough time with the current little butts? Boy, do I.
It's nice to know that whatever the heck was wrong with me when I was a kid is still part of who I am.
Happy Mother's Day, crazies.