I Love You, But You’d Make A Terrible Mom

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“I love you, but you’d make a terrible mom.”

She tilts her head back, laughing.

That joke was only okay when I said it.  When I admitted that I did not want to be a mother.  That the title would never be mine.  

I kidded with others that I was too crazy to be someone else’s mother, but the thing was, I simply did not see kids in my future, no big deal.  It was not because of any failed interactions with kids.

This girl was my best friend, and it stung to hear those words coming from her mouth.  Did she know me anymore?  Had we outgrown each other?  Who was she to judge what kind of mother I would become?  My life had become the butt of her joke.

Sitting in the living room at an adult party, an unattended three-year-old pokes her head out from behind a dollhouse, smiling.  Our eyes meet, and she motions for me to join her behind its delicate structure.  She puts me in charge of dressing the dolls in their plastic shoes, shirts, and pants.  None of the outfits I create go together, but she does not notice one bit.  That’s the benefit of not being old enough to dress yourself.  You don’t know what fashion is yet.

I ask her questions about each doll’s life.  Apparently a few of them are getting married, while others lie face down on the bed, asleep.  Who knew a double bed could fit five people?! 

The mother walks into the room, checks on her daughter, and leaves.  The girl has not had dinner, so I convince her that the dolls need to drive to the kitchen to get married, where she can eat while the wedding is happening.  She attempts to shove the dolls in their car, but they do not sit correctly with their pants on.  Thus, the pants are removed, placed in the trunk, and we are on our way to the kitchen/chapel.

Afterwards, we watch Tangled.  She is too young to understand the plot, but snuggles up with a life-sized ladybug stuffed-animal I give to her.

The little girl’s mom comes to collect her daughter for home.  The girl doesn’t want to leave.

“The dollhouse will be here next time, darling,” the mother says, reassuring her child.

“Will she be here?” The girl asks, pointing her tiny finger my way.

I blush.  “I sure hope so,” I respond.

I may never become a mom.  As of now, I plan on becoming an obstetrician and helping other women in their paths to become mothers.  If I decide to have a child it will be my decision. 

 And I will be a fantastic mom. TC mark

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