Did you know that? They are. And the sensitivity extends to kids in general.
I’m not one of those people who gets offended every time someone says, “You must have your hands full!” when I mention how many children I have. Why should I? They’re absolutely right.
What prompted this sudden outpouring of…um…incredulity? Well, a friend of mine shared a link to a Scary Mommy post on Facebook this morning. I read it, I laughed, and then I clicked on a related article on the same site called “10 Things Never to Say to a Mom Expecting Another Boy.” Also, the Day 12 prompt for Writing 101.
Anyway, back to the article at hand and my incredulity. Most of the things the author suggested you should never ask a mom expecting another boy are fairly harmless, in my opinion. Things like, “Were you trying for a girl?” Or, “Your husband must be SO excited!” I guess the reason those questions don’t bother me is because I was so desperate to have a girl (really, there’s no other word for it) and my husband was excited to be having a boy, and I will be the first person to say so, whether you asked or not.
I already had one boy and I wanted one of each, so my answer to the question, “Were you disappointed when you found out it wasn’t a girl?” is always…
When I was twelve, I lived in a two-story red house on the corner of Pine Street and Main. The local Pioneer was across the street to the north, and we had a huge back yard. At least, I thought it was huge. Then again, I thought the house was huge, too. Trees filled the yard, and flower beds existed in various states of decay. They weren’t the only things in that state.
My mom hated that color – she wanted me to pick something a shade darker, but I loved it. It was better than the ugly shade of blue that matched my parents’ bedroom, and a heck of a lot better than 
So for the Writing 101 Day Ten post, I’m supposed to write about my favorite food, and do it in my own voice. But everything I write is in my own voice, so what does that even mean? I mean, I have different voices, obviously – there’s the voice I use with my kids, the voice I use with my kids when they’re in trouble, the voice I use when I’m talking to other adults, the voice I write novels in (and that changes depending on the story), the voice I write blog posts in, the voice I write my diary in…
I tried to come up with a quick short story to post today for the first 
Our new house is considerably smaller than our old house, especially the kitchen. There’s no dishwasher and a lot less counter space, so I had to do dishes yesterday morning by hand; the lack of dish-stacking space required I do them in two batches. The boys were watching 
I was initially a bit apprehensive about moving back to the country. I loved visiting my grandparents’ farm when I was a kid, but when I lived in the country with my first husband, it just wasn’t what I expected. I was happy to move back to town, where I lived but a few blocks from the major entertainments (library, theater, bowling alley). I liked walking places and stopping to chat with people along the way.
Suddenly they all died. The end. 