#17) My Beautiful Mommy

Children's books that are supposed to explain why Mommy is so vain she required surgery to make her feel good about herself are crazier than bat shit.

If Mommy can't handle the fact that using her body to create another human being may make it less "taut" or "toned" than it was in the past, Mommy really needs to see a shrink because she either has a drug problem or she harbors delusions that women are supposed to resemble children from the age of 18 until they are about 65.

After 65, it is mostly okay to have a few wrinkles and let your hair go gray/blonde/silver. Because at that point you are officially eligible for social welfare, i.e. Social Security, and you won't die if you've been a stay-at-home mom with no job for 25 to 45 years and your husband trades you in for an actual 18 or 25 or 33 year old.

We understand the fear that would lead Mommy to want to have that tummy tuck. We really do. But that Mommy is afraid she has chosen a man to be Daddy that will turn around and throw her away when her tummy has been stretched from having YOU, well then, maybe Mommy should have gotten rid of Daddy instead of visiting Dr. Tummy Tuck.

But here's what's crazier than bat shit about this. This book was written by a plastic surgeon who willingly operates on Mommy to make her feel pretty again after having You, and he acknowledges that You, new to Earth, are having a reaction to this practice that needs to be controlled. Ameliorated. You think shit's going down, and this book is supposed to convince you that stitches, surgery and bloody bunches of gauze are perfectly fine, all in the name of holding on to your childhood. We mean Mommy's youth...

Which is something you really don't want your parents to do. Being your parents and all. You know. Looking and acting like they could be dating your friends instead of say, parenting You. You want them to be older, wiser, in control and to know what-the-hell-is-going-on. Because this world is bat shit crazy enough without Mommy changing the size of her lips.

Because here's the thing. Someday, You will find this book on your shelf, nestled between "Horton Hears a Who," and "Goodnight, Moon," and "Where the Wild Things Are." And you'll look at your Mommy and think "Wow. My Mother thinks that she needed to have a surgically altered ____ for us to love her and for her to feel good about herself. I always thought she was just straight up beautiful. God damn, that lady is crazier than bat shit."