Not the boss of me!

The mother reminded me last week that I’ve always been prone to want to better my situation.

“Yes,” she said, “I remember when we lived in the apartment building and you were two and the neighbor knocked on the door and told me that you were out in the hall looking for a new mother.”

“That’s not how it went,” I insisted.

“What?”

“I was out on the 5th Floor looking for a new mommy, but I wasn’t telling everyone who passed by. I wanted to find the correct new mommy and I was confident that I would know her when I saw her. Sort of like I’ll know my future husband when I see him.” Both of us laughed uproariously at that.

I’m not sure what possessed me to go look for a new mother, but I think that back in 1971 my mother was entertained when she came out and I told her about my hopes for a new mother. Of course I was probably crying and covered in snot from whatever perceived slight I had suffered.

I’m feeling very close to my two-year-old self at work lately. “You’re not the boss of me!” So there.

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