My girls love me. They really, really do. I should be flattered. I should feel blessed, and don't get me wrong, I do, and I am. But really. You are sitting on my lap. You have your head buried into my chest. I am there. There is no need for you to scream at the top of your lungs "mommy". It would be physically impossible for you to get any closer to me. Unless, of course, you somehow climbed back into my uterus. And I know at least one girl who would willingly do that. Gross, I know.
I have threatened to change my name, but they're smart little buggers. They would figure out my new name and scream that.
Seriously, somethimes they are in the kitchen with Sean, and they come upstairs to the bathroom, while I am in the shower, to ask me to get them a drink. Really?
Maybe they don't love me as much as they use me.
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