I'm Too Young To Be A Mother

But my 24-year-old sister is pregnant. I got the first ultrasound pictures today and while I'm excited for a chubby, pooping wonderpuff of joy, I have my reservations. While I would have liked to see my little sister go to space camp - or even college, she's been trying for weeks and is very excited about motherhood. It's not what I expected since last year she was a lesbian, and the year before that she was so obsessed with serial killers that she had come up with a not-so-intricate plot to get a visitor's pass to visit David Berkowitz (Son of Sam killer) by pretending to be extremely Christian, but I'm learning to go with the flow and I just want what's best for little Tyreese LeBron Goldstein, as I've named him. Maybe she is breeding her own brand of serial killer - and it's like Dexter and only kills other serial killers - or, even better, it only kills Kardashians. I'd be ok with that. Do I think she's ready to be a mom? How the hell should I know - I'm 57 years old and still haven't stopped making fart jokes, can't hold a job and hate wearing pants and shoes.

It's a mixed partnership and people on both sides - his black family and my white family/friends seem to have a universal reaction: Oh, mixed babies are so beautiful! Is that racist? Also, is that a given? What if Steve Harvey and Rosie O'Donnell had a baby - would it automatically be beautiful because he's black and she's mostly human?

This experience makes me want to wait even longer to breed. I'm going to see how awful it is through my sister - how fat and sweaty she gets and how whiny and needy the baby is, and I'm going to rethink my potential role as a mother. I can barely handle my husband's dog on my own. He leaves town quite often to take care of his secret second family (he thinks I don't know about them) - or for work - and his high-needs dog snaps at my face and tries to bite me when I walk her. She is terrified to go outside, whines while he's away and essentially stops eating. We got her a collar full of pleasant pheromones to attempt to calm her down and I have high hopes. The box pictured a dog behind bars as the "before" and a dog wearing a graduation cap and gown and clutching a diploma between its teeth as the "after." The first time she snapped at me, I was on steroids and PMS and I burst into tears and begged her not to poop in my bed. This morning when she did it again, I left her for a couple of hours with a treat and by the time I came back, she was at the door wagging her tail. Think positive!