So on Tuesday, I’m coming out the YMCA with Coever in my arms, Morgan in tow and a huge gym bag slung across my body causing me to kind of limp my way down the sidewalk. I decided to carry Coever because that carseat contraption ain’t getting any lighter and because she likes to see and be seen. It’s kind of stupid on my part though, because of said gym bag that slows us down. Inevitably, somebody wants to stop to say hello to Morgan or Coever or both (I’m just the assistant, evidently), and comment on how big they are getting, how pretty they are, how they are doing, their respective opinions on this debacle called the Race for the White House 2008. You know, the usual.
So this (insert your own expletive) says, “Wow, six months! It just seems like yesterday you were waddling around here all pregnant.”

But, that’s not what I said. I replied, “Hahaha, thanks.”

I’m not quick on the barbs, I never have been. Oh, two minutes lates, I’m a chock full of snappy responses, but in the instant it’s called for, no dice. I’d like to say my mommy instinct kicked in, effectively blocking all synapes firing offensive, off color and raunchy language that would have set that sucker straight, but scarred the girls for life. We all know the truth. I froze. The minute he was out of eyesight and earshot, it was all I could do to stop the barrage of verbal fisticuffs wanting to escape from my mouth, but what good did that do me? I’ve got to have a crib sheet or something handy so that I can just roll out the quick hits when stuff like that happens. Either that or I’m just going to have to walk around answering every comment, “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
Yeah, that’s going to go over real well.