I’ve always segmented my life into parts, which shows how my mind loves to organize. I am constantly putting things that happen to me away for safe keeping, like I have a row of lock boxes in my resin laced cranium.

I could have been Martha Stewart, only without the pretentiousness.

My good thing list could beat her good thing list up in a cat fight.

You’re going down, Merbear.

Whatever. Shakin’ in my slippers, Martha dear.

I am now coming to the end of my forth life segment. My kid is now a senior, and she hasn’t called me mommy or asked me to wipe her bum in a long time.

I will always be her mother, but it’s never the same once they become potty-trained.

I’ve been a mother for almost 18 years now, which is half my lifetime. I don’t remember how it felt not to have her in my life. I don’t remember how it felt not to be a mom.

I was meant to be her mother.

The day I realized that I could go out without needing a sitter was one of the greatest days of my life. I do it now without thinking, but at the time, I hesitated. What if she decided to make herself a bag of popcorn and got a steam burn? Or what if an ax murderer was outside, hiding in the bushes?

What if we ran out of Sunny D, and she drank all of my real orange juice?

These are the things that ran through my mind when I walked out the door. (I’m kooky like that.)

She has never done any major harm to herself or the homestead while I was away. I am so very rarely away now that I’m sure that has helped keep down the statistics.

I walked down the sidewalk in awe that fine, free wheelin’ day. I didn’t have to take her along with me everywhere I went, and my arms were forever free of a massive diaper bag.

Does anyone else miss the smell of Desitin?

She was so beautiful, people would stop me and tell me she should be a baby model. I never followed through with any of that stupid crap, though. I just got her picture taken at Sears every 6 months.

I’m glad there was no such thing as Facebook back then. I would be posting pics of her constantly.


Oh shit, there’s Baby B’s ass again. Keep scrolling!

Smells delightful, though.

I remember the milestones. Her first word was kitty. She walked late, at 18 months. I remember the sippy cups and how picky an eater she was, surviving on ham and cheese Hot Pockets and green olives. I tried everything to get her to eat, and guess what? She will eat almost anything now.

She survived, and I didn’t even use bubble wrap.

I’ve always wanted to be a mother, since I carried various baby dolls with me as a kid. I loved my milk bottle that filled up magically when I tipped it.

I am glad that God was cool enough to let me have at least one child. I am blessed beyond belief, and thank my lucky stars that we seem to be getting along so much better lately. The more time I spend with her, the more I like her as a real person, not just my child.

No, not quite there yet.