I am not a mother

I am not a mother, but I play one in real life.

img_7371When I started dating my boyfriend, his daughter, Francesca, was two. Navigating a new relationship with a toddler in it — and trying to figure out my place in her life as well as his — was, at times, tricky. Then? Well, she turned three.

Compared to three, two was a breeze. (Seriously… Are toddlers bipolar?)

Right after her third birthday, I walked into the backyard to find a disaster on my hands.

Remember that scene from Carrie where she’s covered in pig blood? That’s pretty much what it looked like. Except she was stark naked — no shoes, no shirt, not even underwear or socks — and covered entirely in bright blue paint.

She had her back turned to me, so when the door opened, she slowly turned and looked at me, her hands up in the air like she knew I caught her in the act.

She used her growing skills as Master of Deflection before giving me a chance to speak.

“Rocky ate my poo poo.”


I noted briefly that my American bulldog was off in the corner sulking before I looked her dead in the eye.

“Did you poop in the yard?”

“Yeah…” she said a moment later, when she realized I had caught her both pooping in the yard like a feral animal and blue-ing herself.

“Go inside right now,” I was stern as I stared her down. “Get in the bathtub and do not touch a thing on your way there.

She sunk her head low and headed straight to the bathtub while I stayed outside to laugh really hard for several moments before following her into the bathroom to scrub her until she no longer looked like Smurfette.

I am not a mother, but I find myself thrust into situations like this where I’m probably going to lose my mind like my own mother did.

Any non-moms (or un-moms?) out there who have suddenly found themselves becoming motherly figures? Do you have words of wisdom for me? Cause this week I have gotten annihilated by a rubber snake, been forced to explain the difference between a penis and a uturus, had to wipe a poopy butt after yet another “Rocky ate my poo poo” moment, and sat in a pile of toothpaste. And I feel like these are the less chaotic moments. Please, share your stories!

Sigh. I used to be a roller girl. I had more clarity with concussions.

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