YaYa and Kid A have some rules in the car. Their rules, not mine.

All the cars driving beside us are our "friends". The ones not beside us (I'm assuming on the other side of the road, but it might include the ones behind us, since we always seem to be fleeing- "Go faster Mama! Watch out, Mama!") are "bad guys."

Also, lately, when we've been grocery shopping they pretend they're grownups! Getting their groceries! "Let's get some fruit!" Kid A says.

"I think I'm all done with my list!" YaYa chirps. "We love and love all this food, don't we! Because we're grownups!"

Meanwhile, I shuffle along beside them, barely lifting my feet, wearily checking another item off of my list. My uterus is weighing on my pelvic bones with a pressure that makes me sure that in a minute I will have to pick it up off the floor.

Maybe I should pretend to be a kid pretending to be a grownup.