I give her a pointed look and laughed.

“Are you kidding me? You and Dad were married five times total. FIVE TIMES! When you know your parents crashed and burned so many times, it’s kind of obvious that you’re going to have the same luck,” I tell her.

“Oh, sweetie, you are a jackass. I love you, but you are dumber than a one legged duck in an ass kicking contest when pigs fly,” she tells me.

“Am I supposed to know what the f**k that means? You either told me this was impossible or called me a pig.”

My mom reaches up and wipes a tear off of my cheek I don't even know is there.

“Marriage was never for me. I knew that early on but I chose to ignore it. I never dreamed of having a family or a house with a white picket fence and being a soccer mom. But then I had you and I knew I needed to try. It just didn’t work for me. But your father? He is definitely a marrying man, and he is a wonderful husband. The problem was never him. It was the losers he married,” she says with a smile. “You may have always been afraid to try because of how you grew up and what you believed, but that doesn’t mean it’s who you are. You have more of your father in you than you know. You are already a better mother than I ever was, and I guarantee that when Carter does pop the question, you will be an amazing wife.”

For the first time in my twenty-five years, my mother actually says something that made sense and gave me pause. And not the “What the f**k is she saying?” pause.

I had put up a wall all my life to protect myself. If I pretended like I didn’t really want the American dream of a husband and kids, then eventually I would believe it and no one would be able to hurt me. Until Liz and Jim’s wedding, I didn’t realize just how much I wanted that wall to crack. Now that it had though, I was right where I never wanted to be - scared, confused and upset. I knew I needed to get my emotions under control and stop acting like a crazy person. I needed to man up and talk to Carter. I could feel the distance between us growing every day that I continued to lie to him and explained away my detachment and rocky emotions by saying they were all just because of the pregnancy. I had acted like a big baby all these months when all of it might have been fixed by one little conversation.

After Gavin’s party, I will make sure that we sat down and talked.

“What about Carter’s family? Are his parents still trying to recover from ceiling fan baseball?” my mom asks with a laugh, changing the subject to something a little less depressing.

“They’ve been okay. His mom actually sent me a big box of brand new baby clothes and a few blankets. His grandmother is the one I’m most surprised about. She really should want to kill me but she sent me something too, and I found out she actually has a sense of humor.”

“Oh? What was it?” my mom asks.

“A onesie that said ‘Too cute to play with your ugly ass kid’.”

~

“Why the hell are those bitches over there giving me a dirty look?” Liz asks as she stares down five mothers who have accompanied their sons to Gavin’s party.

“I’m guessing it’s because the woman who brought her husband just noticed that he’s been staring at your boobs that are spilling out of your shirt,” I tell her as I finish cutting the cake and placing it on paper plates.

“Oh give me a break. One look at that guy and you can tell he’s wound up so tight that if I blew him a kiss he’d probably bust a nut. None of those women look like they ever have sex unless it’s to procreate,” she complains.

“They probably only do it in the missionary position with the lights off,” I add.

“I bet they think doggy style is a type of line dance,” Liz says with a laugh, blowing the husband a kiss.

I smack her hand and give her the evil eye.

“Will you cut it out? I have to be around these mothers all the time at Gavin’s school. Play nice,” I warn her.

“Look!” she says excitedly. “That poor guy just adjusted his junk. He totally came in his pants.”

So far the party has been a success. The kids are yelling and running all over the shop now that they are hopped up on sugar. I had thought having them frost their own cookies would be fun until they forgot about the cookies and started shoveling frosting into their mouths by the handful. Having Drew wrap up a bag of Pixy Stix and a twenty ounce can of Mountain Dew as Gavin’s present doesn’t help matters either. He tears into the present and has half the candy and all the Mountain Dew gone before I even notice. By the time I get a hold of him, he looks like he’s been snorting coke off of hookers. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair is a mess, and he has white powder all around his mouth. When I see Drew whisper in his ear right before Gavin runs up to me and yells, “I have tiger blood running through my veins!” I know it's time to take the kid-crack away from him

And of course I get nothing but dirty looks from the world’s most perfect mothers. They can’t just drop their kids off and come back like normal parents who foam at the mouth when they find out they’ll get a few hours of peace and quiet and make their kids jump out of the moving vehicle at the curb before peeling off to get a massage or go to the bar. Oh no, they have to stand in the corner in their perfect little clique, judging me with their pastel sweater sets, linen pants, and string of pearls. Drew has already told one of them he has a much better pearl necklace he can give her later that night, hence the huddling in the corner. I think they really thought he was going to whip his dick out at a children’s party and jerk off on one of their necks. Actually, this is Drew I’m talking about. There's a distinct possibility he might do it.

They spend the whole day looking put-out that they had to be here. They turn their noses up at my store-bought decorations and one even says, “Oh, so you didn’t do centerpieces and table favors? And I heard you say this wasn’t catered? That’s a shame.” Um, correct me if I’m wrong, but this is a party for a FIVE YEAR OLD. Not a f**king Bar Mitzvah. I'm not decoupaging anything, using a glue gun, or whittling an ice sculpture, and I sure as hell am not serving lobster and filet. I feed them pizza and hot dogs and fill goodie bags with Play Doh and bubbles. Where I come from, that’s how you celebrate a toddler’s birthday. I hold my tongue, though, because I don’t want to be that woman who got into a cat fight at her kid's birthday party.

I'm tired, cranky, and on edge as it is because I haven’t talked to Carter yet. He had worked last night and we drove separately to the party so he could sleep. If another one of those uppity bitches says anything else to me, I'm not going to be responsible for my actions.

Liz grabs two plates of cake and leaves to take one over to Jim and antagonize the lone father whose wife probably threatened his manhood if he didn’t come with her to the party.

She probably told him he wouldn’t get missionary birthday sex this year where he could rub on top of her for thirty seconds while she was fully clothed. Poor guy.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Carter asks as he comes up next to me and helps put forks on all the plates with a slice of cake on them. We've only said a few words to each other in passing since he got here. Both of us have been running around making sure everyone was happy and the party was a success. He had looked a little horrified at first when he got here, having never experienced a little boy’s birthday party before, but he quickly jumped right in, grabbed a can of Silly String and began screaming and running around with the kids.

“I’m okay. Just tired,” I tell him. I want to throw my arms around him and tell him I'm sorry for being such a bitch lately, but I know it will make me cry and I'm not about to do that in front of all these people. He seems nervous standing here with me and it makes me sad that I’ve done this to him. Instead of wrapping his arms around me and making a joke like he normally would, he keeps his distance, probably afraid I will snap at him or burst into tears like I’ve done for three months.

I am the biggest bitch in the entire world.

I turn to face him, knowing I need to say something to clear the air even if it's just to tell him I love him, when one of the she-wolves stalked over and interrupts us.

“Excuse me, but I think you should know that your son just said a bad word,” she informs me haughtily with her hands on her hips.

Son of a bitch. This is so not what I need right now.

“I’m sorry. What did he say?” I ask.

I wonder if she’s too appalled to say whatever the word is out loud. She’s probably going to spell the word for me, and I’m going to have no choice but to point and laugh at her. F-U-C-K, A-S-S, S-H-I-T…what's it gonna be? Hopefully she knows how to spell bad words or this is going to be a whole new level of awesome.

Drew comes up to us and the woman looks at his shirt that says “Have you seen my perfect man ass?” and huffs in irritation.

“What’s the dillio, folks?” he asks, taking a bite out of a cookie and spitting crumbs as he talks.

“I was just telling Claire that Gavin said a bad word in front of my son,” she explains again.

“We’re really sorry,” Carter reiterates.

“So what did he say? Cocksucker, thundercunt, fuckholes, ballsactitties? Drew asks in all seriousness.

Under normal circumstances I would have probably smacked him in the arm for this, but the shock on Mother Theresa’s face across from me is satisfaction enough. I put my hand over my mouth to cover up my giggle.

She sputters and gasps a few times before she finally replies angrily. “For your information, he said the word c-r-a-p.”

The three of us stand there looking at her funny.

“Well? Aren’t you going to do something about that?” she asks when no one says or does anything.

“I’m sorry, did you just spell the word crap?” Drew asks in confusion.

“Yes, that’s the word Gavin said,” she tells him.

Drew starts laughing. Loud, gut busting laughs.

“Oh my God! You totally had me going there for a minute,” Drew tells her between laughs. “I really thought G-man was going to be in trouble.”

The other mothers must have heard the commotion and walk over to join our small group.

“I should have known you wouldn’t do anything about it. I mean, it’s obvious you don’t know the first thing about being a good parent. The parenting skills you have shown are appalling. Letting your child run amok, talking like a veteran trucker or a sailor. Real people do not talk this way to each other. The amount of times I’ve heard the word v-a-g-i-n-a alone is shocking. If this whole display was a story I was reading, it would be a disappointing ‘did not finish’ for me.”

Oh no she DIDN’T!

I stand there for a few minutes with my mouth hanging open in shock while the other Stepford mothers get on the “you’re a shitty parent” bandwagon and nod their agreements. These women are real pieces of work. I mean, I would totally talk about you behind your back, but I’d never be that mean and bitchy to your face or say something to hurt your feelings.

Until now.

You bitches messed with the wrong pregnant woman.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you cornered the market on perfect parenting. Isn’t that your son sitting on the floor over there eating his boogers and naming his farts? Real genius you’ve got on your hands there. And you,” I say, turning to one of the other ones. “Your kid told me when he got here that he wasn’t allowed to eat processed sugar, white flower, red dye number five, or watch Spongebob because it was too violent. Isn’t he the one sitting on the chair by the door rocking back and forth chanting ‘I hate humans’? My child may be mouthy, and he may say inappropriate things from time to time, but I am a damn good mother. I just found out today my son scored higher on his kindergarten testing than all of your little fuckwits put together. He may watch Spongebob, he may eat sugar, and he may pick up on phrases the adults around him say, but I can guarantee you that when he’s older, you won’t find a human head in his freezer like little Johnny over there who’s been banging his head against the glass for an hour because he’s in shock from having a piece of cake for the first time in his life. And for your information, real people do actually talk like this. Really cool people who have awesome friends don’t have giant sticks up their asses like you obviously do.”

Carter leans close to my ear. “Gavin scored that well on his testing?”

“I know, total shocker for me too. He obviously doesn’t get his brains from us,” I whisper to him.

I turned back and realized all of the women have dispersed from our fun little pow-pow, grabbed their kids, and scurried out the door without another word.

“Oh and by the way, we should probably look into some new preschools,” I state.

21. I Swallowed a Penny!

“What do you mean you aren’t going to do it?” Liz screeches. “Carter, we’ve been planning this for weeks. You HAVE to do it.”

Liz and I are in the kitchen of the shop doing dishes while Claire is out front with everyone else taking down decorations.

I know Liz means well, but I just can’t do what she wants me to.

“Liz, this just doesn’t feel right. It was a great idea before she got pregnant, but I just can’t do this now. Claire hasn’t been herself since she found out she was pregnant. No matter how many times I try and tell her that everything will be fine, I don’t think she believes me. If you hadn’t told me what you did about her being afraid I didn’t want to marry her, I would have thought she was cheating on me,” I say.