It is my estimation that I changed more diapers by the time I was twelve years old than most women who have only one child do in their lifetime.
I started my illustrious, and lengthy, babysitting career when I was eight years old. We were living in Provo while my dad went to BYU, and even though we were poor my mom was devout in her faith and followed the gospel by being a turbo charged baby MACHINE. Most of my memories of my mom during my childhood are of her being pregnant. Being pregnant and crying a lot.
Did I mention we were really poor?
When I was little I sang a song for my mom in the Primary Mothers Day Sacrament Meeting extravaganza. I’m sure you all remember this little ditty:
“I often.. go walking.. in meadows of clooover”
can’t remember the rest of it but the end goes like this
“dear Mother, all flowers, reeemind me of youuuu”
My singing left MUCH to be desired, but I’ve always been a big showoff so I compensated with lots of swagger. My mom still talks about that special sacrament meeting, even now, even with me as an APOSTATE.
This lace bodysuit makes me feel bad about myself. Overly. I feel personally offended by this bodysuit, as though it reached out and slapped my ass without my permission.