My Baby

We should indeed watch what we say around children. Their minds are like sponges immersed in every syllable. In honesty, I forget this often and just speak my truth. Usually, my little girl is busy playing, so I don't think she can hear me at all. Oh, but she's listening to me.

There's only one time I can think of that was worse than her applauding me for going poopy in the potty in the Walmart bathroom, or telling the man working the drive-thru at Burger King, "My mommy is trying to find her a huban."

But, this Sunday in particular, I sat with a load of laundry and put on the show Atlanta's Housewives to pass the time. During the show, a woman with a rather large backside passed he screen. Now, culturally it's a great thing, and the fact that I don't have a large rump brings tears to my brown eyes.

I dropped the shirt I was folding in trance. I whispered, "Man, I wish I had a booty like that." That's it. That's all I said. I got out of my hypnotic state and went on with my business. I didn't know my little girl was leaning on the recording button of her brain. She didn't reply. She didn't ask any questions. She didn't look at me, so the honest moment I had with myself about my lack of assets was over, or I thought. I finished my work and decided to go for dinner.

I wasn't going to cook. I had a backache, and I felt tired. I choose to go for pizza. I put my bra on, took my keys, and she and I walked out the door. During the drive, I watched her sing and move to Beyoncé. She danced with all her heart, all her soul, and all her face.

We arrived, and I got my four-year-old out of the car. I had on fuzzy pajama pants and house shoes. I stopped dressing up. It took a lot of effort. We went into what she calls a pizzeria, and what the normal Americans call Little Caesars.

In front of us is a corpulent woman about my age and near my size. She doesn't know that an observant, unfiltered child is behind her. Poor lady, her pants are a little tight, and I wonder why she doesn't just choose pajamas too. They are super comfy.

Anyway I digress, my precious baby looked at me with her benevolent eyes and curly hair. She pointed and asked me, "Mommy, you want a booty like that, don't you?"

When I say I shattered! I was just mortified. Her comment rang all over the store. The heat of embarrassment swept through me like MRI contrast. I felt hot and I felt like I could pee myself. My eyes were about an inch out of the socket.

I grabbed her by the hand and stepped back. I turned to escape the looks of three employees and a handsome construction worker. Their eyes were all fixed on me, but they kept their composure. I could only imagine the tonal laughter that happened once I was no longer within earshot.

I brought her back to the car, strapped her up, and her little face was lost in confusion. I kissed her instead of scolding her, and I laughed instead of crying. “What are you, a damn Parakeet? I asked under my breath when I closed the door and walked around the car. I got in the car and my face hit the wheel. I laughed, and she giggled.

“Why are you laughing, mommy?” She asked.

I started the car and got away from the crime scene, “Nothing, we are getting McDonald’s!”