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I’m sitting here with a romance novel in my lap that has some fairly steamy scenes but nothing too heavy like Fifty Shades of Grey, but I’m thinking I’ll have to reread that because this one isn’t cutting it. My daughter, Amelia, is running around the swing instead sitting in it and doing what the other children do with swings; swing. She’s an odd child, ill tempered and selfish she’s easy on the eyes which is why people like her, but she’ll grow up to be an asshole. I just know.

My husband says a sibling would help shape her personality, I don’t share these feelings, neither does my body. I’ve spent entirely too many months on yoga, and crunches and full body toning … and kegels to screw it all up again. Plus, what if I need a divorce? Who’ll pick me up if I look like one of these slags siting in the park with their over-sized sweaters and sippy-cups?

Sometimes I wonder if people would notice if I  just got up, took my things and just walked away. It’s not like anyone here knows me. I reject all of the other mothers, I find them boring, predictable and … ugly. Honestly, some of these women really let themselves go, then they cry when their husbands cheat with the perky set of tits in his office.

Amelia has stopped her one woman crusade around the swing and has taken a seat next to this redheaded little boy, she smiling at him like she’s about to eat him. This kid is crazy. Poor boy he’s smiling back. I hope she doesn’t turn into a slut. I hope I stick around long enough to see that she doesn’t.

She’s looking up now at me and waving, I give a half-hearted wave back. “Mommy, push me! Mommy …Please,” she whines. I ignore her for a few moments, she stops and finally figures it out on her own. She’s pumping her legs into the air and making weird jerky movements. Despite being an ill tempered weirdo, she’s quite brilliant. I didn’t teach her that. 

Amelia is self-sufficient she’s always been. She doesn’t need me. Which is all the better reason for me to just leave, quickly get up and walk away from this playground before she looks back my way.  And so I do. I close my romance novel put it back into my bag, uncross my legs, rise and walk out of the park. Part of me wants to say sorry to Amelia for just leaving her like this but the other part wants to full on sprint out of here. Out of this park, out of this neighborhood with the bored housewives, out of my own boring house and my role as just “mommy” and not “queen of the world” like I’d said when I was 20. I hasten my step and I get to the car. It dawns on me then; where will I go?

I have no place to go…

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. I take a few minutes to gather my bearings then I turn around and head back towards the park, back towards being “mommy”, back toward the ugly housewives, back toward my soft porn romance novel. Back toward Amelia and the realization that I am … stuck.

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