My husband keeps saying it’s time to have another baby. Right now we have four kids, ages 8 years to 15 months. Our youngest just learned to walk and graduated from the Barnacle Stage — the developmental phase where he spent every waking moment clinging to my legs. I can see how my husband thinks our lives are getting too cushy.
I keep saying that I’m not ready, but my husband’s not convinced. It’s a testament to his loving and masochistic nature that he can talk about a fifth child, without a hint of sarcasm, on days when our kids have finger-painted with butter or kidnapped the neighbor’s goats.
When The Great Familial Expansion comes up, I’ve found it best to change the subject. Usually, I just ramble on about chores until my husband falls asleep. But just in case he’s on to something, I thought I better ask the Internet for advice.
There’s a quiz for everything in the world, and lately I’ve been questioning whether Zimbio can predict with 100-percent certainty which Disney ride a person is. (Don’t get lost here on the existential question of how a living organism can actually be a theme park ride, just go with it.)
I say this because my 60-year-old mother got “Tower of Terror” when she took the quiz. She, who will not set foot near ANY roller coaster and will spend an entire three-day stint at Disneyland visiting only the gift shops and the Tiki Room, is allegedly the living incarnation of California Adventure’s freakiest ride.
Then the other day, I took two quizzes to tell me which TV mom I was most like, with mixed results. (I did this and called it “work” instead of doing any actual work, which I think is the point of online research.)
The first one said I was Carmela Soprano. The second one said I was Carol Brady. What I really want is to be a TV mom with Carmela Soprano’s dye job and Carol Brady’s Alice, so perhaps the Internet knows what it’s talking about, after all.
Ready to do some heavy introspection and soul-searching, I took a Scary Mommy quiz to tell me how many kids I should have.
I breezed through the questions because the answers were easy. Of course I pee with the door open. To close the door for even a second would be to invite an uprising. Of course I wear lipstick, heels and a cape to Target. It might be the only time I’m seen outside my house on any given month.
And because everyone knows Internet quiz results are binding, I was left with only this wisdom to guide my path: “Congratulations. You are cut out to parent one child. And only one child!”
Armed with that sage advice, I headed out to hide the butter and find the neighbor’s goats.