During my commute to work this morning I was thinking about my kids’ father (also known as Exy-Poo) and found myself wishing that he was short. As in, not as tall as he is.
I look at Jonathan who isn’t even 14 years old yet and he’s already bypassed me in height. Of course, I can only blame his father for the problem this poses on my parenting abilities.
I mean, how am I supposed to tell him to make his bed or brush his teeth when I have to look UP at him?
And how is he supposed to take me seriously when from his bird’s eye view, I’ve gone from being the over-towering pillar of mom-ness, to Ms. Bossy Pants Shortitude?
Suddenly I know exactly how midgets feel.
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