Et Tu, Brutus?

When the Man-Cub and I were walking to school this morning, we ran into one of his buddies from baseball. Upon spotting his friend, the Cub dropped my hand like it was coated in the plague; I’m sure the tearing and burning sensations that I felt in my chest at that moment were the result of too much spicy pasta sauce at dinner last night and had nothing whatsoever to do with the little bastard’s dismissal of my affections.

I mean, really; I sheltered that child’s body in my womb for nine months. I endured twelve hours of hard labor without drugs, just to get his ungrateful ass into this world. I stayed awake countless nights, treating fevers, cleaning up vomit and changing sheets on the infrequent occasions when he was sick or accidentally wet his bed; there is no way a child of mine would diss me in front of his friend just to prove he was a Big Boy, not after all that suffering and sacrifice. No way.

But, on the off-chance that that was what that was all about; I fully intend to hold every bit of that suffering and sacrifice over his head when the day finally comes for him and his sister to pick out my nursing home.

And, it had better be a damn fine nursing home.