Don't ask me a question that cannot be answered with a nod or a one-syllable response while you have your fingers in my mouth. Questions such as "Where do you live?" "When was your baby born?" and "What's the tattoo on your wrist for?" apply. When I tell you that the tattoo on my wrist is in honor of the baby that I lost due to an ectopic pregnancy, do not then shove your fingers in my mouth and ask me what that is. It's more complicated than anything I can express with an "aalllhaoolala." I do not know sign language.
Do not ask me "when" I will be having more children. Given my history of pregnancy loss, infertility, and premature delivery, I'm not sure if I want to. I also have a child with a cerebral palsy, and I'm not entirely certain I want to navigate the logistics of caring for my son and for a newborn. After I tell you all that, don't tell me that I have to have another child because single children are brats.
I told you my son's name when you asked. Yes, it's a nickname. Yes, it's "...interesting." His given name is Andrew. Don't tell me you don't like traditional names very much then go on to tell me the ridiculous overly cutesy names you cursed your children with.
Why didn't I tell you to mind your own business in the beginning? Because you were stabbing me in the mouth with your damn pick thing. I hate that damn pick thing. When I tell you that I floss 5-6 times per week, don't tell me that my gums would bleed less if I flossed every day. My gums would bleed less if you weren't wielding that damn pick thing like a drunk on a balance ball. When you were done, I told you that you were a little rough with the damn pick thing, so you told me again that I should floss every day.
I love your boss for coming in and saying "You have beautiful teeth. You floss every day, don't you?" I love your co-worker for gassing me all the way to Shangri-La before your boss drilled into my teeth to fix an errant cavity. I love your other co-worker for rolling her eyes and saying "You're not the first" when I said after the appointment that I'd like to have someone else work on me next time.
Do not ask me "when" I will be having more children. Given my history of pregnancy loss, infertility, and premature delivery, I'm not sure if I want to. I also have a child with a cerebral palsy, and I'm not entirely certain I want to navigate the logistics of caring for my son and for a newborn. After I tell you all that, don't tell me that I have to have another child because single children are brats.
I told you my son's name when you asked. Yes, it's a nickname. Yes, it's "...interesting." His given name is Andrew. Don't tell me you don't like traditional names very much then go on to tell me the ridiculous overly cutesy names you cursed your children with.
Why didn't I tell you to mind your own business in the beginning? Because you were stabbing me in the mouth with your damn pick thing. I hate that damn pick thing. When I tell you that I floss 5-6 times per week, don't tell me that my gums would bleed less if I flossed every day. My gums would bleed less if you weren't wielding that damn pick thing like a drunk on a balance ball. When you were done, I told you that you were a little rough with the damn pick thing, so you told me again that I should floss every day.
I love your boss for coming in and saying "You have beautiful teeth. You floss every day, don't you?" I love your co-worker for gassing me all the way to Shangri-La before your boss drilled into my teeth to fix an errant cavity. I love your other co-worker for rolling her eyes and saying "You're not the first" when I said after the appointment that I'd like to have someone else work on me next time.
I do not love you.
Signed,
The Girl With the Beautiful Teeth
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