Memos from the Middle

Smack-Dab in the Middle of Living

Humiliated with Poor Grammar

The Princess sauntered into the kitchen as I was warming up a can of pork ‘n beans  cooking a wonderfully nutritious dinner for my family the other evening.

“Uh, Mommy?”

“Yes, Princess, what’s up?”

“Didn’t you say that the baby would be here soon?”

“Yes, Sweetie. We have about 10 weeks before the baby is supposed to come.”

“And didn’t you say that sometimes babies come early?”

“Yes. You were 10 days early, and your sister was 12 days early.”

“Uh, huh. I see.” I could feel her peering at me hoping that I would make eye contact.

“Was there something else you wanted to know, Princess?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact there was.” Her tone was slightly accusatory, so I turned around to give her my fullest attention.

“Well.” This is her customary entry to a litany of abuses usually heaped by the Pirate Dare Devil. She stuck her left hip out hard.

“Yes, Princess. What is it?”

“Well, we ain’t got no diapers. We ain’t got no bottles. We ain’t got no milk. We ain’t got no clothes.” She was enumerating on her fingers for emphasis.  “I mean, where the baby gonna sleep, Mommy? What the baby gonna eat?”

I stood there with a dumbfounded look on my face because everything she was concerned about I had not even thought of myself. I have been just going through my everyday routines, trying to change lives and be a decent wife and mother to the people who were already here. I hadn’t had a chance to think about all the stuff I should have been doing to prepare  our home for the arrival of our newest family member.

“Princess,” I said. “It’s ‘we don’t have any diapers; we don’t have any bottles.”

What else could I say?

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