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Son of a…

Two professional women: both married with kids and both juggling clients, reports, potty training, packed lunches, chores, dogs, cats, errands, husbands and …”what was that you said? SEX?”
That three-letter word that once was so frequent, so liberating, so yummy has been sidelined in a sea of life, work and snot.
It is time.
Time to put sex back on a pedestal by injecting some extra spice into our relationships.

Son of a…

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My mental reaction says nothing of what her comment did to my libido. What kind of role can you play with a, ahem, chubby?

The babysitter told me yesterday that Lee 2 looked out at the rain and said, “Son of a bitch.” I was astonished not because she had ever heard the expression, nor because she was so bothered by some light precipitation, but because she actually knew the end of the saying. I generally leave it at “Son of a…” unless I manage to stub my toe on a piece of furniture or break something.

Later in the evening, that same child was curled up in my Pottery Barn Malabar chair that she sleeps in like a kitten. The little nypmh is four, but can still wear her 24-month leggings and 6-9 month bloomers. As I was coming in the room, she looked at me and said, “Mom, are you too chubby to sit in this chair?”

One side of my brain silently uttered a complete “Son of a”, while the other took pride that she stuck to our family rule that “fat” is a bad word. I am quite a good mother, you know.

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