This is the result of a Facebook convo between me and one of my close friend’s this morning.
Creative “Momming” at its best. Don’t judge. You know you’ve thought about it.
***
This is the result of a Facebook convo between me and one of my close friend’s this morning.
Creative “Momming” at its best. Don’t judge. You know you’ve thought about it.
***
I was not born to be a mother. I didn’t grow up dreaming of being a princess in a castle and marrying a prince. I didn’t spend a lot of time cradling babydolls, and I didn’t play house all that often. I had Barbies for awhile, but they were oversexed weirdos. In fact, by the time I was about ten years old, my make believe games often had aspects that were distinctly weird. When my cousin and I would hang out, we’d pretend we were a bickering old vagrant couple and we’d speak continuously in cockney English accents (it used to really flip my mother out). Continue reading