Proof I'm a Good Mother

In high school, I became a mother for the first time. I birthed an egg.

As part of some class, we had to carry around a hollow egg and pretend it was a baby. I guess it was supposed to teach us how hard parenting is. (Let me tell you, this egg never woke me up in the middle of the night.) The object of the project was simply not to break Egg Baby.

I took this assignment very seriously. I decorated Egg Baby like a little person, even gluing a lock of my hair to her pretty little head. My teacher signed the bottom (a birthmark,) and I had my Egg Baby. I nestled her in a handkerchief in a little basket and took good care of her. Not a crack anywhere. I don't remember much more about the week I carried her around. I can't even remember what she was named. All I know is I couldn't bear to throw her away when the class ended.

Fast forward FOURTEEN YEARS. Chris and I are having a garage sale in a couple of weeks, and we are taking on the unfortunate task of going through boxes in the unfinished part of our basement. There is so much stuff down there!

So I'm making my way through a box, and I spot a tiny box from Pier 1. I opened it up, and there was Egg Baby!

Say what you want about me forgetting her name and keeping her locked in the basement. I think it's a testament to my mothering that she has lasted all these years, through many moves, and is still intact. I think Evie just might have done okay in the Mother Department.