A 40-Year-Old Mom Has Questions

When can I stop worrying that one (or, dear god, both) of my children could grow up to be a psychopath even though both are so sweet and seemingly normal now? Every time I start to relax, I think about all of the documentaries in which the mother of a serial killer says, “He was such a happy baby.”

Is anyone else incapable of liking Greta Gerwig due to a fierce sense of loyalty to Jennifer Jason Leigh?

“How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore…” Oops, sorry – just listening to Hamilton again.

Part B: How is Lin-Manuel Miranda’s wife handling his super-stardom? Does it ever wear on her?

How did I get so lucky to have two excellent children (who don’t seem to be on track to become serial killers), and how can I bear the angst that comes with loving the little buggers so much?

Should I wear a romper?

When the time comes, how will I ever let my kids drive a car – or worse, get into a car driven by one of their harebrained teenage friends? How did I survive my adolescence? How will I survive theirs??

Can we stop publishing articles that proclaim “You’re doing X wrong”? And while we’re at it, can we please have a moratorium on any piece of writing that riffs on the opening line of Pride and Prejudice? (It is a truth universally acknowledged that Jane Austen has been through enough.)pride-and-prejudice-and-zombies

Why does the baby inevitably have an enormous bowel movement just as we are about to leave the house?

Isn’t it about time that Robert Smith tried a different hairstyle?

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What’s the difference between a Demi Lovato and a Selena Gomez?

Should I be grossed out by the community pool?

Can you see my mustache in this light?

Is it time for bed yet?

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