This Is Why This Editor Is Not A Parent

In college, I spent one summer working for a residential program for kids with behavioral disorders. There were about twelve kids and five members of staff.

We were eating breakfast. The kid sitting next to me wolfed down a bowl of cheesy grits entirely too fast and promptly puked them back up all over himself (and partially on me).

It was CRITICAL to model calmness there or else chaos would ensue. Before anyone could start freaking out, I put on my best “teacher voice,” settled them down, sent the kid upstairs to change clothes, cleaned up the puddle of puke, and then sat down and resumed eating my breakfast as though nothing had happened.

Coworker: “[My Name], I think you’re ready for motherhood.”