At the last minute, I ambitiously decided to take my 3½-year-old, Sam, and 7-week-old, Abby, to our local library for storytime. I threw on a worn pair of maternity capris and a faded T-shirt. Sam's hair endured the ol' mom-lick treatment, and Abby got a ridiculously large pink bow meant to distract from her baby acne.
Storytime was crowded. With Sam straggling behind, I wove Abby's stroller through the tangle of kids, shin-high tables, and pint-size chairs to sit him down in front. "Be good," I whispered, shooting him my serious "I mean it" look. Winding my way to the back, I ran into at least half the tables, jolting a hungry Abby awake and screaming in the process. Nice.
The young librarian enthusiastically welcomed everyone to summer's first storytime. The oldest of the kids took this to mean the floor was open to random facts. "I have a puppy!" said one. "My dad got a new mower," boasted another. Not to be outdone, Sam announced, "My mom had my sister and her penis falled off!"
Gulp. Bowing my head, I made a mental note to re-explain the difference between a penis and an umbilical stump -- this time, emphasizing that no one needs to know what fell off either way.
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