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I do hope I’d draw the line at passing out ice cubes with little plastic babies frozen inside

Then the other mothers started cheering and rushing to move the chairs into a circle; it makes you wonder if the games aren’t a way to even things up a little with the non-mothers, a kind of subconscious retaliation for every tactless remark and impatient shake of the head. It’s not that I’m unsympathetic. Honestly, if I had to endure one too many hints about the wonders of Ritalin, or if I got reproachful looks in restaurants no matter how discreetly I unhooked the clasp on my nursing bra and lifted my child to my breast, it might be me proposing a diaper-sniffing contest, urging the non-mothers in particular to don blindfolds and guess if the smear in the crotch is mustard or soy sauce.

– from “Boyfriends” by Cynthia Weiner

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